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SSI 32 


j OLD ENGLISH BARON 

By CLARA REEVE 



NATIONAL 
I LI5RARY 

f EOITEP &r 
L rROFESSOR , 
HENRY MORLErr 


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THE OLD ENGLISH BAEON 


I 






CASSELL’S^ NATIONAL LIBRARY. 




,jllt of 
enth 


re 


THE 




Old English Baron 


BY 


MRS. CLARA REEVE. 


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INTRODUCTION. 


Olara Rbeve was the daughter of the Reverend 
William Reeve, Rector of Freston and of Kerton, 
in Suffolk. Her grandfather on the father’s side 
had been a clergyman at Ipswich. Her grand- 
father on the mother’s side had been goldsmith and 
jeweller to George the First. 

The Reverend William Reeve was one of eight 
children, and he was also the fatlier of eight. His 
daugliter Clara, born in 1725, was fifty-two years 
old when she wrote “The Old English Baron.” 
Her father was then dead, and she lived with her 
mother and two sisters at Colchester. There 
she had begun her career in literature by trans- 
lating from the Latin Barclay’s “Argenis,” which 
she published as “The Phcenix, or the History 
of Polyarchus and Argenis,” in four volumes, in 
1772. This was a political allegory written by 
John Barclay, who died at Rome in 1621. .It was 
called by Cowper the most amusing romance ever 


INTRODtrCTION. 

jiL' It had been, in its own time, translated 
ungsmill Long in 1625, and by Sir Robert Le 
/s in 1628. Five years after the production of 
r translation of Barclay’s “ Argenis,” followed 
The Old English Baron,” Clara Reeve’s most 
popular work. It was ^first published in 1777, 
as “The Champion of Virtue, a Gothic Story.” 
Mr. Dillon, of the Poultry, gave her ten pounds 
for it. In 1778 a second edition was called for, 
and its name then was changed to “The Old 
English Baron.” It was dedicated to Mrs. Brigden 
— a daughter of Richardson the novelist — who had 
assisted in the revision of the book. This book was 
followed by “ The Two Mentors, a Modern Story.” 
Next came in 1785 “The Progress of Romance 
through Times, Countries, and Manners,” in a course 
of evening conversations between Hortensius, 
Sophronia, and Euphrasia on the novels then most 
in request ; “ 'The Exile, or Memoirs of the Count 
de Cronstadt,” with incidents borrowed from a 
French novel by M. D’Arnand ; “ The School for 
Widows,” a novel; “Plans of Education,” in a 
duodecimo volume ; and in three duodecimos 
“Memoirs of Sir Roger de Clarendon, a natural 


INTRODUCTION. 


son of Edward the Black Prince, with Aneci 
of many other eminent persons of the Fourtee 
Century.” Clara Peeve died unmarried, in h 
native city of Ipswich, on the 3rd of Decembei 
1803, aged seventy-eight. 

She herself said that her “ Old English Baron 
was the “literary offspring” of Horace Walpole’s 
“ Castle of Otranto,” which had been published 
twelve years earlier, in 1765, and which has been 
given in the tenth volume of this Library. But 
she said also that she avoided Walpole’s extrava- 
gances of conception. She condemned the gigantic 
ske of his sword and helmet ; the violent fictions 
of a walking picture ; and a ghost in a hermit’s cowl. 
Sir Walter Scott upon this entered his protest 
against “ fettering the realm of shadows by the 
opinions entertained on it in the world of realities.' 
To the question, where to draw the line, Scot 
gave the right answer of an artist. He said thei 
can be no limit but this, that “ the author himsel 
being in fact the magician, shall evoke no spir' 
whom he is not capable of endowing with mann# 
and language corresponding to their supematr 
character. Thus Shakespeare, drawing r 


INTRODUCTION. 


Lcters as Caliban and Ariel, gave them reality, 
by appealing to actual opinions which his 
lienee might entertain respecting the possibility 
impossibility of their existence, but by invest- 
ing them with such attributes as all reaers and 
spectators recognised as those which must have 
corresponded to such extraordinary beings, had 
their existence been possible. If he had pleased 
to put into language the ‘ squeaking and gibbering ’ 
of those disembodied phantoms which haunted the 
streets of Rome, no doubt his wonderful imagina- 
tion could have tilled up the sketch, which, marked 
by these two emphatic and singularly felicitous 
expressions, he has left as characteristic of the 
■jTanguage of the dead.” 

From this point of view Sir Walter Scott held 
hat Clara Reeve was right in contining her own 
tight within the limits of her powers. Her own 
nagination was not rich or powerful. Her story- 
tiling is easy and pleasant, and her ghost story 
of the kind that would be current in a thousand 
nes when nights were long, and families, in 
'y-telling humour, gathered round the Christmas 
Its homely colouring kept well within the 


INTRODUCTION. 


range of the experience and ways of thought of 
grandmothers in the latter half of the eighteenth 
century. Its touches of prosiness had also a cer- 
tain fitness in producing on the mind the right 
effect. “ For even,” said Scott — who enjoyed this 
book without considering it a work of genius — 
“ these prolix, minute, and unnecessary details are 
precisely such as would occur in a similar story told 
by a grandsire or gran dame to a circle assembled 
round a winter’s fire ; and while they take from 
the dignity of the composition, and would there- 
fore have been rejected by a writer of more exalted 
imagination, do certainly add in some degree to its- 
reality, and bear in that respect a resemblance to 
the art with which De Foe impresses on his readers 
the truth of his fictions, by the insertion of many 
minute and immaterial, or unnatural, circumstanceSj^ 
which we are led to suppose could only be recorded 
because they are true.” 


H. M. 






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The Old English Baron. 

A GOTHIC STORY. 

In the minority of Henry the Sixth, King of England, 
when the renowned Duke of Bedford was Eegent of 
France, and Humphrey, the good Duke of G-loucester, was 
Protector 3f England, a worthy knight, called Sir Philip 
Harclay, returned from his travels to England, his native 
country. He had served under the glorious King Henry 
the Fifth with distinguished valour, had acquired an • 
honourable fame, and was not less esteemed for Christian 
virtues than for deeds of chivalry. After the death of 
his prince he entered into the service of the Greek Em- 
peror, and distinguished his courage against the encroach- 
ments of the Saracens. In a battle there he took prisoner 
a certain gentleman, by name M. Zadisky, of Greek ex- 
traction, but brought up by a Saracen officer ; this man 
he converted to the Christian faith ; after which he bound 
him to himself by the ties of friendship and gratitude, 
and he resolved to continue with his benefactor. After 
thirty years’ travel and warlike service, he determined to 
return to his native land, and to spend the remainder of 
his life in peace ; and by devoting himself to works of 
piety and charity, prepare for a better state hereafter. 

This noble knight had, in his early youth, contracted a 


12 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


strict friendship with the only son of the Lord Lovel, 
a gentleman of eminent virtues and accomplishments. 
During Sir Philip’s residence in foreign countiies he had 
frequently written to his friend, and had for a time 
received answers ; the last informed him of the death of 
old Lord Lovel, and the marriage of the young one ; but 
from that time he had heard no more from him. Sir 
Philip imputed it not to neglect or forgetfulness, but to 
the difficulties of intercourse, common at that time to all 
travellers and adventurers. When he was returning home 
he resolved, after looking into his family affairs, to visit 
the castle of Lovel, and inquire into the situation of his 
friend. He landed in Kent, attended by his CHeek friend 
and two faithful servants, one of whom was maimed by 
the wounds he had received in the defence of his master. 

Sir Philip went to his family seat in Yorkshire ; he 
found his mother and sister were dead, and his estates, 
sequestered in the hands of commissioners appointed by 
the Protector. He was obliged to prove the reality of his 
claim, and the identity of his person (by the testimony of 
some of the old servants of his family) ; after which 
everything was restored to him. He took possession of 
his own house, established his household, settled the old 
servants in their former stations, and placed those he 
brought home in the upper offices of his family. He then 
left his friend to superintend his domestic affairs ; and,, 
attended by only one of his old servants, he set out for the 
castle of Lovel, in the west of England. They travelled 
by easy journeys ; but, towards the evening of the second 
day the servant was so ill and fatigued he could go no 
further ; he stopped at an inn, where he grew worse every' 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


13 


hour, and the next day expired. Sir Philip was under 
great concern for the loss of his servant, and some for 
himself, being alone in a strange place ; however, ho took 
courage, ordered his servant’s funeral, attended it himself, 
and having shed a tear of humanity over his grave, pro- 
ceeded alone on his journey. 

As he drew near the estate of his friend he began to 
inquire of everyone he met, whether the Lord Lovel 
resided at the seat of his ancestors ? He was answered by 
one, he did not know ; by another, he could not tell ; by a 
third that he never heard of such a person. Sir Philip 
thought it strange that a man of Lord Lovel’s consequence 
should be unknown in his own neighbourhood, and where 
his ancestors had usually resided. He ruminated on the 
uncertainty of human happiness. “ This world,” said he, 

has nothing for a wise man to depend upon. I have 
lost all my relations, and most of my friends ; and am 
even uncertain whether any are remaining. I will, how- 
ever, be thankful for the blessings that are spared to me ; 
and I will endeavour to replace those I have lost. If - my 
friend lives, he shall share my fortune with me ; his 
children shall have the reversion of it ; and I will share 
his comforts in return. But perhaps my friend may have 
met with troubles that have made him disgusted with the 
world ; perhaps he has buried his amiable wife or his 
promising children ; and, tired of public life, he has retired 
into a monastery. At least I will know what all this 
silence means.” 

’When he came within a mile of the castle of Lovel he 
stopped at a cottage, and asked for a draught of water. A 
peasant, master of the house, brought it, and asked if hia 


14 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


honour would alight, and take a moment’s refreshment. 
Sir Philip accepted his offer, being resolved to make 
further inquiry before he approached the castle. He 
asked the same questions of him he had before of ethers. 
“ AVhich Lord Lovel,” said the man, “ does your honour 
inquire after ? ” “ The man whom I knew was called 

Arthur,” said Sir , Philip. “ Ay,” said the peasant, “ he 
was the only surviving son of Richard Lord Lovel, as I 
think.” “Very true, friend, he was so.” “Alas, sir,” 
said the man, “ he is dead I he survived his father but a 
short time.” “ Dead ! say you ? how long since ? ” “About 
fifteen years, to the best of my remembrance.” Sir 
Philip sighed deeply. “Alas,” said he, “what do we by 
living long, but survive all our friends 1 But pray tell me 
how he died.” “ I will, sir, to the best of my knowledge. 
An’t please your honour, I heard say, that he attended the 
king when he went against the Welsh rebels, and he left 
his lady big with child ; and so there was a battle fought, 
and the king got the better of the rebels. There came 
first ri report that none of the officers were killed ; but a 
few days after there came a messenger with an account 
very different, that several were wounded, and that the 
L jrd Lovel was slain ; which sad news overset us all with 
sorrow, for he was a noble gentleman, a bountiful master, 
and the delight of all the neighbourhood.” “ He was 
indeed,” said Sir Philip, “ all that was amiable and good ; 
he was my dear and noble friend, and I am inconsolable 
for his loss. But the unfortunate lady, what became of 
her ? ” “ Why, an’t please your honour, they say she died 

of grief for the loss of her husband ; but her death was 
kept private for a time, and we did not know it for certain 


THE OLD ENGLISH BAEON. 15' 

till some weeks afterwards.” “ Tlie will of Heaven lie 
obeyed,” said Sir PHlip ; “ but who succeeded to the title 
and estate ? ” “ The next heir,” said the peasant, “ a kins- 
man of the deceased. Sir Walter Level by name.” “ I 
have seen him,” said Sir Philip, “ formerly ; but where 
was he when these events happened ? ” At the castle of 
Level, sir ; he came there on a visit to the lady, and waited 
there to receive my lord, at his return from Wales. When 
the news of his death arrived. Sir Walter did everything' 
in his power to comfort her, and some said he was to 
marry her ; but she refused to be comforted, and took it 
so much to heart that she died.” 

“ And does the present Lord L®vel reside at the castle ? ” 
“ No, sir.” “ Who then ? ” “ The Lord Baron Fitz- 

Owen.” “ And how came Sir Walter to leave the seat of 
his ancestors ? ” “ Why, sir, he married his sister to this 

said lord ; and so he sold the castle to him, and went 
away, and built himself a house in the north country, as 
far as Northumberland, I think they call it.” “ That is 
very strange,” said Sir Philip. “So it is, please your 
honour ; but this is all I know about it.” “ I thank you, 
friend, for your intelligence : I have taken a long jourr'ey 
to no purpose, and have met with nothing but cross 
accidents. This life is indeed a pilgrimage ! Pray direct 
me the nearest way to the next monastery.” “ Noble 
sir,’’ said the peasant, “ it is full five miles off ; the night 
is coming on, and the ways are bad : I am but a poor 
man, and cannot entertain your honour as you are used 
to, but if you will enter my poor cottage, that, and every- 
thing in it, are at your service.” “ My honest friend, I 
thank you heartily,” said Sir Philip ; “ your kindness and 


16 


THE OLD ENGLISH BAEON. 


hospitality might shame many of higher birth and breed- 
ing ; I will accept: your kind offer. But pray let me know 
the name of my host ? ” “John Wyatt, sir ; an honest man, 
though a poor one ; and a Christian man, though a sinful 
one.” “ Whose cottage is this ? ” “ It belongs to the 

Lord Fitz-Owen,” “ What family have you ? ” “A wife, 
two sons, and a daughter, who will all be proud to wait 
upon your honour : let me hold your honour’s stirrup 
whilst you alight.” He seconded these words by the 
proper action, and having assisted his guest to dismount, 
he conducted him into his house, called his wife to attend 
him. and then led his horse under a poor shed, that served 
him as a stable. Sir Philip was fatigued in body and 
mind, and was glad to repose himself anywhere. The 
courtes}' of his host engaged his attention, and satisfied 
his wishes. He soon after returned, followed by a youth 
of about eighteen years. “ Make haste, John,” said the 
father ; “ and be sure you say neither more nor less than 
what I have told you.” “ I will, father,” said the lad ; 
and immediately set off, ran like a buck across the fields, 
and was out of sight in an instant. “ I hope, friend,” said 
Sir, Philip, “ you have not sent your son to provide for my 
entertainment ; I am a soldier, used to lodge and fare' 
hard : and if it were otherwise, your courtesy and kind- 
ness would give a relish to the most ordinary food.” “ I 
wish lieartily,” said Wyatt, “ it was in my power to enter- 
tain your honour as you ought to be ; but, as I cannot do 
so, I will, when my son returns, acquaint you with the 
errand I sent him on.” After this, they conversed to- 
gether on common subjects, like fellow-creatures of the 
csame natural form and endowments, though different 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


17 


kinds of education had g-iven a conscious superiority to 
the one, a conscious inferiority to the other ; and the due 
respect was paid to the latter, without being exacted by 
the former. In about half an hour young John returned. 
“ Thou hast made haste,” said the father. “ Not more 
than good speed,” quoth the son. “ Tell us, then, how 
you sped.” “ Shall I tell you all that passed ? ” said John. 
“ All,” said the father ; “ I don’t want to hide anything.” 
John stood with his cap in his hand, and thus told his 
tale : — “ I went straight to the castle as fast as I could 
run ; it was my hap to light on young Master Edmund 
first : so I told him, just as you bade me, that a noble 
gentleman was come a long journey from foreign parts 
to see the Lord Lovel, his friend ; and having lived abroad 
many years, he did not know that he was dead, and that 
the castle was fallen into other hands ; that upon hearing 
these tidings he was much grieved and disappointed, and 
wanting a night’s lodging to rest himself before he 
returned to his own home, he was fain to take up with 
one at our cottage ; that my father thought my lord would 
be angry with him if he were not told of the stranger’s 
journey and intentions, especially to let such a man lie at 
our cottage, where he could neither be lodged nor enter- 
tained according to his quality.” Here John stopped, and 
his father exclaimed, “ A good lad ; you did your errand 
very well : and tell us the answer.” John proceeded ; 
“Master Edmund ordered me some beer, and went to 
acquaint my lord of the message ; he stayed a while, and 
then came back to me. * John,’ said he, ‘tell the noble 
stranger that the Baron Fitz-Owen greets him well, and 
desires him to rest assured tjiat, though Lord Lovel is dead. 



18 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


and the castle fallen into other hands, his friends will 
always find a welcome there ; and my lord desires that he 
will accept of a lodging there while he remains in this 
country.’ So I came away directly, and made haste to 
deliver my errand.” 

Sir Philip expressed some dissatisfaction at this mark 
of old Wyatt’s respect. “ I wish,” said he, “ that you had 
acquainted me with your intention before you sent to 
inform the baron I was here. I choose rather to lodge 
with you ; and I propose to make amends for the trouble 
I shall give you.” “ Pray, sir, don’t mention it,” said the 
peasant ; “ you are as welcome as myself ; I hope no 
offence ; the only reason of my sending was because I am 
both unable and unworthy to entertain your honour.” “ I 
am sorry,” said Sir Philip, “you should think me so dainty; 
1 am a Christian soldier ; and Him I acknowledge for my 
Prince and Master accepted the invitations of the poor, 
and washed the feet of His disciples. Let us say no more 
on this head ; I am resolved to stay this night in your 
cottage ; to-morrow I will wait on the baron, and thank 
him for his hospitable invitation.” “ That shall be as 
your honour pleases, since you will condescend to stay 
here. John, do you run back and acquaint my lord of 
it.” “ Not so,” said Sir Philip ; “ it is now almost dark.” 
“ ’Tis no matter,” said J ohn, “ I can go it blindfold.” Sir 
Philip then gave him a message to the baron in his own 
naipe, acquainting him that he would pay his respects to 
him in the morning. John fiew back the second time, and 
soon returned with new commendations from the baron, and 
that he would expect him on the morrow. Sir Philip gave 
him an angel of gold, and praised his speed and abilities. 


THE OLD ENGLISH BAEON. 


19 


He supped witli Wyatt and his family, upon new-laid 
eggs and rashers of bacon, with the highest relish. They 
praised the Creator for His gifts, and acknowledged they 
were unworthy of the least of His blessings. They gave 
the best of their two lofts up to Sir Philip ; the rest of 
the family slept in the other ; the old woman and her 
daughter in the bed ; the father and his two sons upon 
clean straw. Sir’ Philip’s bed was of a better kind, and 
yet much inferior to his usual accommodations ; neverthe- 
less, the good knight slept as well in Wyatt’s cottage* as 
he could have done in a palace. 

During his sleep many strange and incoherent dreams 
arose to his imagination. He thought he received a. 
message from his friend Lord Lovel, to come to him at 
the castle ; that he stood at the gate and received him ; 
that he strove to embrace him, and could not ; but that 
he spoke to this effect : “ Though I have been dead these 
fifteen years, I still command here, and none can enter 
these gates without my permission ; know that it is I that 
invite, and bid you welcome ; the hopes of my house rest 
upon you.” Upon this he bade Sir Philip follow him ; he 
led him through many rooms, till at last he sunk down, 
and Sir Philip thought he still followed him, till he came 
into a dark and frightful cave, where he disappeared, and 
in his stead he beheld a complete suit of armour, stafined 
with blood, which belonged to his friend, and he thought 
he heard dismal groans from beneath. Presently after he 
thought he was hurried away by an invisible hand, and 
led into a wild heath, where the people were enclosing 
the ground, and making preparations for two combatants ; 
the trumpet sounded, and a voice called out still louder, 


20 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


“ Forbear ! It is not permitted to be revealed till the time 
is ripe for the event : wait with patience on the decrees of 
Heaven.” He was then transported to his own house, 
where, going into an unfrequented room, he was again 
met by his friend, who was living, and in all the bloom of 
youth, as when he first knew him ; he started at the sight, 
and awoke. The sun shone upon his curtains, and, per- 
ceiving it was day, he sat up, and recollected where he 
was. The images that impressed his sleeping fancy 
remained strongly on his mind waking ; biit his reason 
strove to disperse them : it was natural that the story he 
had heard should create these ideas, that they should wait 
on him in his sleep, and that every dream should bear 
some relation to his deceased friend. The sun dazzled his 
eyes, the birds serenaded him and diverted his attention, 
and a woodbine forced its way through the window, and 
regaled his sense of smelling with its fragrance. He 
arose, paid his devotions to Heaven, and then carefully 
descended the narrow stairs, and went out at the door of 
the cottage. There he saw the industrious wife and 
daughter of old Wyatt at their morning work, the one 
milking' her cow, the other feeding her poultry. He asked 
for a draught of milk, which, with a slice of dry bread, 
served to break his fast. He walked about the fields 
alone ; for old Wyatt and his two sons were gone out to 
their daily labour. He was soon called back by the good 
woman, who told him that a servant from the baron 
waited to conduct him to the castle. He took leave of 
• Wyatt’s wife, telling her he would see her again before he 
I left the country. The daughter fetched his horse, which 
he mounted, and set forward with the servant, of whom 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


21 


lie asked many questions concerning liis master’s family. 
“ How long have you lived with the baron ? ” Ten 
years.” “ Is he a good master ? ” “ Yes, sir, and also a 

good husband and father.” What family has he ? ” 
“ Three sons and a daughter.” “ What age are they of ? ” 
“ The eldest son is in his seventeenth year, the second in 
his sixteenth, the others several years younger ; but 
besides these, my lord has several young gentlemen 
brought up with his own sons, two of whom are his 
nephews ; he keeps in his house a learned clerk to teach 
them languages ; and as for all bodily exercises, none can 
come near them : there is a fletcher to teach them the use 
of the cross-bow ; a master to teach them to ride ; another 
the use of the sword ; another learns them to dance ; and 
then they wrestle and run, and have such activity in all 
their motions, that it does one good to see them ; and my 
lord thinks nothing too much to bestow on their educa- 
tion.” “ Truly,” says Sir Philip, “ he does the part of a 
good parent, and I honour him greatly for it ; but are the 
young gentlemen of a promising disposition ? ” “ Yes, 

sir, indeed,” answered the servant ; “ the young gentlemen, 
my lord’s sons, are hopeful youths ; but yet there is one 
who is thought to exceed them all, though he is the son 
of a poor labourer.” *' And who is he ? ” said the knight. 
“One Edmund Twyford, the son of a cottager in our 
village ; he is, to be sure, as fine a youth as ever thS sun 
shone upon, and of so sweet a disposition, that nobody 
envies his good fortune.” “What good fort'iue does he 
enjoy ? ” “ Why, sir, about two years ago, my lord, at his 

son’s request, took him into his own family, and gives him 
the same education as his own children : the young lords 


THE OLD ENGLISH BAEON. 




■doat upon him, especially Master William, who is about 
his own age. It is supposed that he will attend the young 
lords when they go to the wars, which my lord intends 
they shall, by-and-by.” “ What you tell me,” said Sir 
Philip, •* increases every minute my respect for your lord ; 
he is an excellent father and master ; he seeks out merit 
in obscurity, he distinguishes and rewards it. I honour 
him with all my heart.” 

In this manner they conversed together till they came 
within view of the castle. In a field near the house they 
saw a company of youths, with cross-bows in their hands, 
shooting at a mark. “There,” said the servant, “are our 
young gentlemen at their exercises.” Sir Philip stopped 
his horse to observe them ; he heard two or three of them 
cry out, “ Edmund is the victor ! he wins the prize ! ” “I 
must,” said Sir Philip, “ take a view of this Edmund.” 
He jumped off his horse, gave the bridle to the servant, 
and walked into the field. The young gentlemen came 
up and paid their respects to him. He apologised for in- 
truding upon their sports, and asked which was the 
victor ? Upon which the youth he spoke to beckoned to 
another, who immediately advanced, and made his obei- 
sance. As he drew near Sir Philip fixed his eyes upon him 
with so much attention that he seemed not to observe his 
courtesy and address. At length he recollected himself 
and said, “ What is your name, young man ? ” “ Edmund 

Twyford,” replied the youth, “ and I have the honour to 
attend upon the Lord Eitz-OweiTs sons.” “Pray, noble 
sir,” said the youth who first addressed Sir Philip, “ are 
not you the stranger who is expected by my father ? ” “ I 
am, sir,” answered he, “and I go to pay my respects to him.” 


THE OLD ENGLISH BAEON. 


23 


Will you excuse our attendance, sir ? we have not yet 
finished our exercises.’^ “ My dear youth,” said Sir Philip, 
“ no apology is necessary ; but will you favour me with 
your proper name, that I may know to whose courtesy I 
am obliged ? ” “ My name is William Fitz-Owen ; that 

gentleman is my eldest brother, Master Eobert ; that 
other, my kinsman. Master Eichard Wenlock.” “Very 
well ; I thank you, gentle sir ; I beg you not to stir 
another step, your servant holds my horse.” “ Farewell, 
sir,” said Master William ; “ I hope we shall have the 
pleasure of meeting you at dinner.” The youths returned 
to their sports, and Sir Philip mounted his horse and pro- 
ceeded to the castle ; he entered it with a deep sigh and 
melancholy recollections. The baron received him with 
the utmost respect and courtesy. He gave a brief account 
of the principal events that had happened in the family 
of Lovel during 'his absence ; he spoke of the late Lord 
Lovel with respect, of the present with the affection of a 
brother. Sir Philip, in return, gave a brief recital of his 
own adventures abroad, and of the disagreeable circum- 
stances he had met with since his return home ; he 
pathetically lamented the loss of all his friends, not for- 
getting that of his faithful servant on the way ; saying 
he could be contented to give up the world and retire to a 
religious house, but that he was withheld by the consider- 
ation that some, who depended entirely upon him, would 
want his presence and assistance ; and, besides, that he 
thought he might be of service to many others. The 
baron agreed with him in opinion, that a man was of 
much more service to the world, who continued in it, 
than one who retired from it and gave his fortune to the 


24 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


Church, whose servants did not always make the best use 
of it. Sir Philip then turned the conversation, and con- 
gratulated the baron on his hopeful family ; he praised 
their person and address, and warmly applauded the care 
he bestowed on their education. The baron listened with 
pleasure to the honest approbation of a worthy heart, and 
enjoyed the true happiness of a parent. 

Sir Philip then made further inquiry concerning 
Edmund, whose appearance had struck him with an im- 
pression in his favour. That boy,” said the baron, “ is 
the son of a cottager in this neighbourhood ; his un- 
common merit and gentleness of manners distinguish him 
from those of his own class ; from his childhood he at- 
tracted the notice and affection of all that knew him ; he 
was beloved everywhere but at his father’s house, and 
there it should seem that his merits were his crimes ; for 
the peasant, his father, hated him, treated him severely, 
and at length threatened to turn him put of doors ; he 
used to run here and there on errands for my people, and 
at length they obliged me to take notice of him ; my sons 
earnestly desired I would take him into my family ; 
I did so about two years ago, intending to make him their 
servant, but his extraordinary genius and disposition 
have obliged me to look upon him in a superior light ; 
perhaps I may incur the censure of many people, by 
giving him so many advantages, and treating him as the 
companion of my children ; his merit must justify or 
condemn my partiality for him ; however, I trust I have 
secured to my children a faithful servant of |iie upper 
kind, and a useful friend to my family.” Sir Philip 
warmly applauded his generous host, and wished to be a 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


25 


•sharer in his bounty to that fine j’^outh, whose appearance 
indicated all the qualities that had endeared him to his 
companions. 

At the hour of dinner the young men presented them- 
selves before their lord and his guest. Sir Philip ad- 
dressed himself to Edmund : he asked him many questions, 
and received modest and intelligent answers, and he grew 
every minute more pleased with him. After dinner the 
youths withdrew with their tutor to pursue their studies. 
Sir Philip sat for some time, wrapped up in meditation. 
After some minutes, the baron asked him if he might not be 
favoured with the fruits of his contemplations ? “ You 

shall, my lord,” answered he, “ for you have a right to 
them. I was thinking that w'hen many blessings are lost, 
we should cherish those that remain, and endeavour to 
replace the others. My lord, I have taken a strong liking 
to that youth whom you call Edmund Twyford ; I have 
neither children nor relations to claim my fortune nor 
share my affections ; your lordship has many demands 
upon your generosity ; I can provide for this promising 
youth without doing injustice to any one : will you give 
him to me ? ” “ He is a fortunate boy,” said the baron, 

“ to gain your favour so soon.” “ ]My lord,” said the 
knight, “ I will confess to you that the first thing that 
•touched my heart in his favour is a strong resemblance he 
bears to a certain dear friend I once had, and his manner 
resembles him as much as his person ; his qualities deserve 
that he should be placed in a higher rank. I will adopt 
him for my son, and introduce him into the world as my 
relation, if you will resign him to me ; what say you ? ” 
“ Sir,” said the baron, “ you have made a noble offer and 


26 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


I am too mucli the youngf man’s friend to be a hindrance 
to his preferment. It is true that I intended to provide 
for him in my own family ; but I cannot do it so effectually 
as by giving him to you, whose generous affection being 
unfettered by other ties, may in time prefer him to a 
higher station, as he shall deserve it. I have only one 
condition to make — that the lad should have his option, 
for I would not oblige him to leave my service against 
his inclination.” “ You say w'ell,” replied Sir Philip ; 
“ nor would I take him upon other terms.” “ Agreed 
then,” said the baron ; “ let us send for Edmund hither.” 
A servant was sent to fetch him ; he came immediately, 
and his lord thus bespoke him : “ Edmund, you owe 
eternal obligations to this gentleman, who, perceiving in 
you a certain resemblance to a friend of his, and liking 
your behaviour, has taken a great affection for you, inso- 
much that he desires to receive you into his family. I 
cannot better provide for you than by disposing of you to 
him ; and, if you have no objection, you shall return 
home with him when he goes from hence.” The counten- 
ance of Edmund underwent many alterations during thi& 
proposal of his lord : it expressed tenderness, gratitude^ 
and sorrow ; but the last was predominant ; he bowed re- 
spectfully to the baron and Sir Philip, and, after some 
hesitation, spoke as follows ; “ I feel very strongly the 
obligations I owe to this gentleman for his noble and 
generous offer ; I cannot repress the sense I have of his 
goodness to me, a peasant boy, only known to him by my 
lord’s kind and partial mention ; this uncommon bounty 
claims my eternal gratitude. To you, my honoured lord, 
I owe everything, even this gentleman’s good opinion ; 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


27 


you distinguished me when nobody else did ; and, next tO' 
you, your sons are my best and dearest benefactors ; they 
introduced me to your notice. My heart is unalterably 
attached to this house and family, and my utmost ambi- 
tion is to spend my life in your service ; but if you have 
perceived any great and grievous faults in me, that make 
you wish to put me out of your family, and if you have 
recommended me to this gentleman in order to be rid of 
me, in that case I will submit to your pleasure, as I would 
if you should sentence me to death.” 

During this speech the tears made themselves channels 
down Edmund’s cheeks ; and his two noble auditors, 
catching the tender infection, wiped their eyes at the con- 
clusion. “My dear child,” said the baron, “you overcome 
me by your tenderness and gratitude. I know of no 
faults you have committed, that I should wish to be rid 
of you ; I thought to do you the best service by promoting 
you to that of Sir Philip Barclay, who is both able and 
willing to provide for you ; but if you prefer my service 
tx) his I will not part with you.” Upon this Edmund 
kneeled to the baron ; he embraced his knees : “ My dear 
lord ! I am and will be your servant, in preference to any 
man living ; I only ask your permission to live and die in 
your service.” “ You see. Sir Philip,” said the baron, 
“ how this boy engages the heart ; how can I part with 
him? ” “ I cannot ask you any more,” answered Sir Philip ; 
“ I see it is impossible ; but I esteem you both still higher 
than ever ; the youth for his gratitude, and your lordship 
for your noble mind and true generosity ; blessings attend 
you both ! ” “ Oh, sir,” said Edmund, pressing the hand 

of Sir Philip, “ do not think me ungrateful to you ; I will 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


ever remeraber your goodness, and pray to Heaven to 
reward it ; the name of Sir Philip Harclay shall be en- 
graven upon my heart, next to my lord and his family, 
for ever.” Sir Philip raised the youth and embraced him, 
saying, “ If ever you want a friend, remember me ; and 
depend upon my protection, so long as you continue to 
deserve it.” Edmund bowed low and withdrew, with his 
eyes full of tears of sensibility and gratitude. When he was 
gone Sir Philip said : “ I am thinking that, though young 
Edmund wants not my assistance at present, he may here- 
after stand in need of my friendship. I should not wonder 
if such rare qualities as he possesses should one day create 
envy, and raise him enemies, in which case he might 
come to lose your favour without any fault of yours or his 
own.” “ I am obliged to you for the warning,” said the 
baron, “ I hope it will be unnecessary ; but if ever I part 
with Edmund you shall have the refusal of him.” “ I thank 
your lordship for all your civilities to me,” said the 
knight; “I leave my best wishes with you ‘and your 
hopeful family, and I humbly take my leaver” “ Will 
you not stay one night in the castle ? ” returned my lord ; 

“ you shall be as welcome a guest as ever.” I acknow- 
ledge your goodness and hospitality, but this house fills 
me with melancholy recollections. I came hither with a 
heavy heart, and it will not be lighter while I remain 
liere. I shall always remember your lordship with the - 
highest respect and esteem, and I pray God to preserve 
you, and increase your blessings ! ” 

After some further ceremonies Sir Philip departed, and 
returned to old Wyatt’s, ruminating on the vicissitudes 
of human affairs, and thinking on the changes he had seen. 


THE OLD ENGLISH BAKON. 


29 


At his return to Wj^att’s cottage he found the family- 
assembled together. He told them he would take another 
night’s lodging there, which they heard with great plea- 
sure, for he had familiarised himself to them in the last 
evening’s conversation, insomuch that they began to enjoy 
his company. He told Wyatt of the misfortune he had 
sustained by losing his servant on the way, and wished 
he could get one to attend him home in his place. Young 
John looked earnestly at his father, who returned a 
look of approbation. “ I perceive one in this company,'’ 
said he, “that would be proud to serve your honour ; but 
I fear he is not brought up well enough.” John coloured 
with impatience ; he could not forbear speaking : “ Sir, 

I can answer for an honest heart, a willing mind, and a 
light pair of heels ; and though I am somewhat awkward, 
I shall be proud to learn to please my noble master if he 
will but try me.” “ You say well,” said Sir Philip ; “ I 
have observed your qualifications, and if you are desirous 
to serve me, I am equally pleased with you ; if your 
father has no objection, I will take you.” “Objection ! 
sir,” said the old man : “ it will be my pride to prefer 
him to such a noble gentleman ; I will make no terms 
for him, but leave it to your honour to do for him as 
he shall deserve.” “Very well,” said Sir Philip, “you 
shall be no loser by that ; I will charge myself with the 
care of the young man.” The bargain was struck, and 
Sir Philip purchased a horse for John of the old man. 
The next morning they set out ; the knight left marks of 
his bounty with the good people, and departed, laden with 
their blessings and prayers. He stopped at the place 
where his faithful servant was buried, and caused masses 


30 


THE OLD. ENGLISH BARON. 


to be said for the repose of his soul ; then, pursuing his 
way by easy journeys, arrived in safety at home. His 
family rejoiced at his return ; he settled his new 
servant in attendance upon his person ; he then looked 
round his neighbourhood for objects of his charity ; 
when he saw merit in distress it was his delight to 
raise and support it ; he spent his time in the service 
of his Creator, and glorified him in doing good to his 
creatures. He reflected frequently upon everything 
that had befallen him in his late journey to the west ; 
and at his leisure took down all the particulars in 
writing. 

[Here follows an interval of four years, as by the manu- 
script ; and this omission seems intended by the writer. 
What follows is in a different hand, and the character is 
more modern.] 

****** K 

About this time the prognostics of Sir Philip Harclay 
began to be verified, that Edmund’s good qualities might 
one day excite envy and create him enemies. The sons 
and kinsmen of his patron began to seek occasion to find 
fault with him, and to depreciate him with others. The 
baron’s eldest son and heir. Master Robert, had several 
contests with Master William, the second son, upon his 
account ; this youth had a warm affection for Edmund, 
and whenever his brother and kinsman treated him 
slightingly he supported him against their malicious in- 
sinuations. Mr. Richard Wenlock and Mr. John Mark- 
ham were the sister’s sons of the Lord Fitz-Owen ; and 
there were several other more distant relations, who, with 


THE OLD ENGLISH BAEON. 


31 


them, secretly envied Edmund’s fine qualities, and strove 
to lessen him in the esteem of the baron and his family. 
By degrees they excited a dislike in Master Robert, that 
in time fixed into habit, and fell little short of aversion. 

Young Wenlock’s hatred was confirmed by an addi- 
tional circumstance : he had a growing passion for the 
Lady Emma, the baron’s only daughter ; and, as love is 
eagle-eyed, he saw, or fancied he saw her, cast an eye of 
preference on Edmund. An accidental service that she 
received from him had excited her grateful regards 
and attentions towards him. The incessant view of his 
fine person and qualities had perhaps improved her 
esteem into a still softer sensation, though she was yet 
ignorant of it, and thought it only the tribute due to 
gratitude and friendship. 

One Christmas time, the baron and all his family went 
to visit a family in Wales ; crossing a ford, the horse that 
carried the Lady Emma, who rode behind her cousin 
Wenlock, stumbled and fell down, and threw her off into 
the water ; Edmund dismounted in a moment, and flew 
to her assistance ; he took her out so quick that the 
accident was not known to some part of the company. 
From this time Wenlock strove to undermine Edmund 
in her esteem, and she conceived herself obliged, in jus- 
tice and gratitude, to defend him against the malicious 
insinuations of his enemies. She one day asked Wen- 
lock, why he in particular should endeavour to recom- 
mend himself to her- favour by speaking against Edmund, 
to whom she was under great obligation 1 He made but 
little reply, but the impression sunk deep mto his 
rancorous heart ; every word in Edmund’s behalf was 


32 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


like a poisoned arrow that rankled in the wound, and’ 
grew every day more inflamed. Sometimes he would, 
pretend to extenuate Edmund’s supposed faults, in order 
to load him with the sin of ingratitude upon other 
occasions. Rancour works deepest in the heart that- 
strives to conceal it ; and, when covered by art, fre- 
quently puts on the appearance of candour. By these 
means did Wenlock and Markham impose upon the 
credulity of Master Robert and their other relations : 
Master William only stood proof against all their 
insinuations. 

The same autumn that Edmund completed his eigh- 
teenth year the baron declared his intention of sending 
the young men of his house to France the following 
spring, to learn the art of war, and to signalise their 
courage and abilities. 

Their ill-will towards Edmund was so well concealed 
that his patron had not discovered it ; but it was whis- 
pered among the servants, who are generally close ob- 
servers of the manners of their principals. Edmund was 
a favourite of them all, which was a strong presumption, 
that he deserved to be so, for they seldom show much re- 
gard to dependants or superior domestics, who are gene- 
rally objects of envy and dislike. Edmund was courteous 
but not familiar with them ; and, by this means gained 
their affections without soliciting them. Among them 
was an old serving-man, called Joseph Howell ; this man 
had formerly served the old Lord Lovel and his son ; and 
when the young lord died, and Sir Walter sold the castle 
to his brother-in-law, the Lord Fitz-Owen, he only of all 
the old servants was left in the house to take care of it, 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


33 


and to deliver it into the possession of the new pro- 
prietor, who retained him in his service. He was a man 
of few words, but much reflection ; and, without trou- 
bling himself about other people’s affairs, went silently 
and properly about his own business ; more solicitous 
to discharge his duty than to recommend himself to 
notice, and not seeming to aspire to any higher office 
than that of a serving-man. This old man would fix his 
eyes upon Edmund whenever he could do it without 
observation. Sometimes he would sigh deeply, and a 
tear would start from his eye, which he strove to conceal 
from observation. One day Edmund surprised him in 
his tender emotion as he was wiping his eyes with 
the back of his hand. “ Why, said he, “ my good friend, 
do you look at me so earnestly and affectionately ? ” 
“ Because I love you. Master Edmund,” said he ; “ because 
I wish you well.” “ Thank you kindly,” answered 
Edmund ; “ I am unable to repay your love otherwise 
than by returning it, which I do sincerely.” “ I thank 
you, sir,” said the old man ; “ that is all I desire, and more 
than I deserve.” “ Do not say so,” said Edmund ; “ if I 
had any better way to thank you, I would not say so 
much about it ; but words are all my inheritance.” Upon 
this he shook hands with Joseph, who withdrew hastily 
to conceal his emotion, saying, “ God bless you, master, 
and make your fortune equal to your deserts ! 1 cannot 
help thinking you were born to a higher station than 
what you now hold.” “ You know to the contrary,” 
said Edmund ; but Joseph was^ gone out of sight and 
hearing. 

The notice and observation of strangers, and the affec- 


34 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


tion of individuals, together witli that inward conscious- 
ness that alwaj^s attends superior qualities, would some- 
times kindle the flames of ambition in Edmund’s heart ; 
but he checked them presently by reflecting upon his low 
birth and dependent station. He was modest, yet in- 
trepid ; gentle and courteous to all, frank and unreserved 
to those that loved him ; discreet and complaisant to 
those who hated him ; generous and compassionate to the 
distresses of his fellow-creatures in general ; humble, but 
not servile to his patron and superiors. Once, when he, 
with a manly spirit, justified himself against a malicious 
imputation, his young Lord, Robert, taxed him with pride 
and arrogance to his kinsman. Edmund denied the charge 
against him with equal spirit and modesty. Master 
Robert answered him sharply : “ How dare you contra- 
dict my cousins ? Do you mean to give them the lie ? ” 
“ Not in words, sir,” said Edmund ; “ but I will behave so 
as that you shall not believe them.” Master Robert 
haughtily bade him be silent, and know himself, and not 
presume to contend with men so much his superiors in 
every respect. These heart-burnings in some degree sub- 
sided by their preparations for going to France. Master 
Robert was to be presented at court before his departure, 
and it was expected that • he would be knighted. The 
baron designed Edmund to be his esquire ; but this was 
frustrated by his old enemies, who persuaded Robert to 
make choice of one of his own domestics, called Thomas 
Hewson ; him did they set up as a rival to Edmund, and 
he took every occasion to affront him. All that Master 
Robert gained by this step was the contempt of those 
who saw Edmund’s merit, and thought it want of discern- 


i 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 35 

ment in him not to distinguish and reward it. Edmund 
requested of his lord that he might be Master William’s 
attendant ; and when,” said he, “ my patron shall be 
knighted, as I make no doubt he will one day be, he has 
promised that I shall be his esquire.” The baron granted 
Edmund’s request ; and being freed from servitude to 
the rest, he was devoted to that of his beloved master, 
William, who treated him in public as his principal 
domestic, but in private as his chosen friend and brother. 

The whole cabal of his enemies consulted together in 
what manner they should vent their resentment against 
him ; and it was agreed that they should treat him with 
indifference and neglect till they should arrive in 
France ; and when there they should contrive to render 
his courage suspected, and, by putting him upon some 
desperate enterprise, rid themselves of him for ever. 
About this time died the great Duke of Bedford, to the 
irreparable loss of the English nation. He was succeeded 
by Richard Plantageuet, Duke of York, as Regent of 
France, of which great part had revolted to Charles the 
Dauphin. Frequent actions ensued. Cities were lost and 
won ; and continual occasion offered to exercise the cour- 
age and abilities of the youths of both nations. 

The young men of Baron Fitz-Owen’s house were 
recommended particularly to the Regent’s notice. Mas- 
ter Robert was knighted with several other young men 
of family, who distinguished themselves by their spirit 
and activity upon every occasion. The youth were daily 
employed in warlike exercises, alnd frequent actions ; and 
made their first essay in arms in such a manner as to 
bring into notice all that deserved it. 


36 


THE OLD ENGLISH BAHON. 


Various arts were used by Edmund’s enemies to expose 
him to danger ; but all their contrivances recoiled upon 
themselves, and brought increase of honour upon Ed- 
mund’s head. He distinguished himself upon so many 
occasions that Sir Robert himself began to pay him 
more than ordinary regard, to the infinite mortification 
of his kinsmen and relations. They laid many schemes 
against him, but none took effect. 

[From this place the characters in the manuscript are 
effaced by time and damp. Here and there some sen- 
tences are legible, but not sufficient to pursue the thread 
of the story. Mention is made of several actions in which 
the young men were engaged ; that Edmund distin- 
guished himself by intrepidity in action ; by gentleness, 
humanity, and modesty in the cessation ; that he at- 
tracted the notice of every person of observation ; and 
also that he received personal commendation from the 
regent. 

The following incidents are clear enough to be tran- 
scribed ; but the beginning of the next succeeding pages 
is obliterated ; however, we may guess at the beginning 
by what remains.] 

* * * * * « 

As soon as the cabal met in Sir Robert’s tent, Mr. Wen- 
lock thus began : “ You see my friends, that every 
attempt we make to humble this upstart turns into ap- 
plause, and serves only to raise his pride still higher. 
Something must be done, or his praise will go home 
before us, at our own expense ; and we shall seem only 
foils to set off’ his glories. Anything would I give to 


THE OLD ENGLISH BAEON. ^7. 

the man who should execute our vengeance upon him.” 
“ Stop there, cousin Wenlock,” said Sir Robert ; “ though 
I think Edmund proud and vainglorious, and would 
join in any scheme to humble him, and make him know 
himself, I will not suffer any man to use such base 
methods to effect it. Edmund is brave ; and it is beneath 
an Englishman to revenge himself by unworthy means ; 
if any such are used, I will be the first man to bring 
the guilty to justice, and if I hear another word to 
this purpose I will inform my brother William, who will 
acquaint Edmund with your mean intentions.” Upon 
this the cabal drew back, and Mr. Wenlock protested 
that he meant no more than to mortify his pride, 
and make him know his proper station. Soon after 
Sir Robert withdrew, and they resumed their delibera- 
tions. 

Then spoke Thomas Hewson : — “ There is a party 
to be sent off to-morrow night, to intercept a convoy 
of provisions for the relief of Rouen. I will provoke 
Mr. Edmund to make one of this party ; and when he 
is engaged in the action I and my companions will draw 
off, and leave him to the enemy, who, I trust, will so 
handle him that you shall no more be troubled with 
him.” 

“ This will do,” said Mr. ^^enlock ; ‘‘ but let it be 
kept from my two cousins, and only known to ourselves ; 
if they offer to be of the party, I will persuade them off 
it. And you, Thomas, if you bring this scheme to a con- 
clusion, may depend upon my eternal gratitude.” “And 
mine,” said Markham ; and so said all. The next day 
the affair was publicly mentioned ; and Hewson, as he 


S8 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


promivsed, provoked Edmund, to the trial. Several young- 
men of family oJffered themselves ; among the rest, Sir 
Robert and his brother William. Mr. Wenlock persuaded 
them not to go, and set the danger of the enterprise in 
the strongest colours. At last Sir Robert complained of 
toothache, and was confined to his tent. Edmund waited 
on him ; and, judging by the ardour of his own courage 
of that of his patron, thus bespoke him : — “ I am greatly 
concerned, dear sir, that we cannot have your company 
at night ; but as I know you will suffer at being absent, 
I would beg the favour of you to let me use your arms 
and device, and I will promise not to disgrace them.” 
“ No, Edmund, I cannot consent to that : I thank you 
for your noble offer, and will remember it to your advan- 
tage ; but I cannot wear honours of another man’s getting. 
You have awakened me to a sense of my duty ; I will go 
with you, and contend with you for glory ; and William 
shall do the same.” 

In a few hours they were ready to set out. Wenlock 
and Markham, and their dependents, found themselves 
engaged in honour to go upon an enterprise they never 
intended ; and set out with heavy hearts to join the 
party. They marched in silence in the horrors of a dark 
night and wet roads ; they met the convoy where they 
expected, and a sharp engagement ensued. The victory 
was some time doubtful ; but the moon rising on the 
backs of the English, gave them the advantage. They 
saw the disposition of their enemies, and availed them- 
selves of it. Edmund advanced the foremost of the party ; 
he drew out the leader on the French side ; he slew him. 
Mr. William pressed forward to assist his friend ; Sir 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 89 

Robert, to defend bis brother ; Wenlock and Markham, 
from shame to stay behind. 

Thomas Hewson and his associates drew back on their 
side ; the French perceived it, and pursued the advantage. 
Edmund pushed them in front ; the young nobles all fol- 
lowed him ; they broke through the detachment, and 
stopped the waggons. The officer who commanded the 
party encouraged them to go on; the defeat was soon 
complete, and the ' provisions were carried in triumph to 
the English camp. 

Edmund was presented to the regent as the man to 
whom the victory was chiefly owing. Not a tongue pre- 
sumed to move itself againat him ; even malice and envy 
were silent. 

“ Approach, young man,” said the regent, “ that I may 
confer upon you the honour of knighthood, which you 
have well deserved.” Mr. Wenlock could no longer 
forbear speaking. “ Knighthood,” said he, “ is an order 
belonging to gentlemen, it cannot be conferred on a 
peasant.” “ What say you, sir ? ” returned the regent ; 
“ is this youth a peasant ? ” “ He is,” said Wenlock, 

“ let him deny it if he can.” Edmund, with a modest 
bow, replied, “ It is true, indeed, I am a peasant, and this 
honour is too great for me — I have only done my duty.” 
The Duke of York, whose pride of birth equalled that 
of any man living or dead, sheathed his sword imme- 
diately. “ Though,” said he, “ I cannot reward you as I 
intended, I will take care that you shall have a large 
share in the spoils of this night ; and I declare publicly 
that you stand first in th# list of gallant men in this 
engagement. 


40 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


Thomas Hewson and his associates made a poor figure 
on their return : they were publicly reproved for their 
backwardness. Hewson was wounded in body, and 
more in mind, for the bad success of his ill-laid design. 
He could not hold up his head before Edmund, who, 
unconscious of their *malice, administered every kind of 
comfort to them. He spoke in their behalf to the com- 
manding officer, imputing their conduct to unavoidable 
accidents. He visited them privately ; he gave thenj 
a part of the spoils allotted to himself ; by every act 
of valour and courtesy he strove to engage those hearts 
that hated, envied, and maligned him. But where 
hatred arises from envy of superior qu^ilities, every 
display of those qualities increases the cause from whence 
it arises. 

[Another pause ensues here.] 

The young nobles and gentlemen who distinguished 
Edmund were prevented from raising him to prefer- 
ment, by the insinuations of Wenlock and his associates, 
who never failed to set before them his low descent, 
and his pride and arrogance in presuming to rank with 
gentlemen. 

[Here the manuscript is not legible for several pages. 
There is mention about this time of the death of the 
Lady Fitz-Owen ; but not the cause.] 

Wenlock rejoiced to find that his schemes took effect, 
and that they should be recalled at the approach of 
winter. The baron was glad of a pretence to send for 
them home, for he could no longer endure the absence of 
his children, after the loss of their mother. 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 4*1 

[The manuscript is again defaced for many leaves ; at 
length the letters become more legible, and the remainder 
of it is quite perfect,] 

* * * * * 3tC * 

From the time the young men returned from France 
the enemies 6f Edmund employed their utmost abilities 
to ruin him in the baron’s opinion, and get him dismissed 
from th% family. They insinuated a thousand things- 
against him that happened, as they said, during his resid- 
ence in France, and therefore could not be known to 
his master ; but when the baron privately inquired of 
his two elder sons, he found there was no truth in their 
reports. Sir Robert, though he did not love him, scorned, 
to join in untruths againtt him, Mr. William spoke of 
him Avith the warmth of fraternal affection. The baron 
perceived that his kinsmen disliked Edmund ; but his 
own good heart hindered him from seeing the baseness of 
theirs. It is said that continual dropping will wear 
away a stone ; so did their incessant reports, by insen- 
sible degrees, produce a coolness in his patron’s behaviour 
towards him. If he behaved with manly spirit, it was 
misconstrued into pride and arrogance ; his generosity 
was imprudence ; his humility was hypocrisy, the better 
to cover his ambition. Edmund bore patiently all the 
indignities that were thrown upon him ; and though he 
felt them severely in his bosom, scorned to justify his 
conduct at the expense even of his enemies. Perhaps his 
gentle spirit might at length have sunk under this treat- 
ment, but Providence interposed in his behalf, and by 
seemingly accidental circumstances conducted him im- 
perceptibly towards the crisis of his fate. 


42 


THE OLD ENGLISH BAHON. 


Father Oswald, who had been preceptor to the young 
men, had a strong afiFection for Edmund, from a thorough 
knowledge of his heart ; he saw through the mean arti- 
fices that were used to undermine him in his patron’s 
favour ; he watched their machinations, and strove to 
frustrate their designs. 

This good man used frequently to walk out with 
Edmund ; they conversed upon various subjects, and the 
youth would lament to him the unhappiness of his situa- 
tion, and the peculiar circumstances that attended him. 
The father, by his wholesome advice, comforted his 
drooping heart, and confirmed him in his resolution of 
bearing unavoidable evils with patience and fortitude, 
from the consciousness of his own innocence, and the 
assurance of a future and eternal reward. 

One day, as they were walking in a wood near the 
castle, Edmund asked the father what meant those pre- 
parations for building, the cutting down of trees and 
burning of bricks ? “ What,” said Oswald, “ have you 

not heard that my lord is going to build a new apart- 
ment on the west side of the castle ? ” “ And why,” 

said Edmund, “ should my lord be at that expense, when 
there is one on the east side that is never occupied ? ” 

That apartment,” said the friar, “ you must have ob- 
served, is always shut up.” “ I have observed it often,” 
said Edmund, “ but I never presumed to ask any ques- 
tions about it.” “You had, then,” said Oswald, “less 
curiosity and more discretion than is common at your 
age.” “ You have raised my curios'ity,” said Edmund ; 
“ and if it be not improper, I beg of you to gratify it.” 
“ We are alone,” said Oswald, “ and I am so well assured 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 43 

of your prudence, th.at I will explain this mystery in 
some degree to you. 

“ You must know that apartment was occupied by the 
last Lord Lovel, when he was a bachelor. He was mar- 
ried in his father’s lifetime, who gave up his own apart- 
ment to him, and ofiEered to retire to this himself, but his 
son would not permit him ; he chose to sleep here rather 
than in any other. He had been married about three 
months when his father, the old lord, died of a fever. 
About twelve months after his marriage he was called 
upon to attend the king, Henry the Fourth, on an expe- 
dition into Wales, whither he was attended by many of 
his dependents. He left his lady big with child and full 
of care and anxiety for his safety and return. 

“ After the king had chastised the rebels, and obtained 
the victory, the Lord Lovel was expected home every 
day. Various reports were sent home before him ; one 
messenger brought an account of his health and safety ; 
soon after, another came with bad news, that he was 
slain in battle. His kinsman. Sir Walter Lovel, came 
here on a visit to comfort the lady ; and he waited to 
receive his kinsman on his return. It was he that 
brought the news of the sad event of the battle to the 
Lady LoveL 

■ “ She fainted away at the relation ; but when she revived 
exerted the utmost resolution, saying, it was her duty to 
bear this dreadful stroke with Christian fortitude and 
patience, especially in regard to the child she went with 
the last remains of her beloved husband, and the un- 
doubted heir of a noble house. For several days she 
seemed an example of patience and resignation ; but 


44 


THE OLD ENGLISH BAHON 


then, all at once, she renounced them, and broke out into 
passionate and frantic exclamations ; she said that her 
dear lord was basely murdered ; that his ghost had 
appeared to her, and revealed his fate ; she called upon 
heaven and earth to revenge her wrongs, sa3dng, she 
would never cease complaining to God and the king for 
vengeance and justice. 

“ Upon this Sir Walter told the servants that Lady 
Lovel was distracted from grief for the death of her lord ; 
that his regard for her was as strong as ever ; and that, 
if she recovered, he would himself be her comforter, and 
marry her. In the meantime she was confined in this 
very apartment, and in less than a month the poor lady 
died. She lies buried in the family vault in St. Austin’s 
church in the village. Sir Walter took possession of the 
castle, and all the other estates, and assumed the title of 
Lord Lovel. 

“ Soon after it was reported that the castle was haunted ; 
and that the ghosts of Lord and Lady Lovel had been 
seen by several of the servants. Whoever went into this 
apartment were terrified by uncommon noises and strange 
appearances. At length this apartment was wholly 
shut up, and the servants were forbidden to enter it, or to 
talk of anything relating to it. However, the story did 
not stop here ; it was whispered about that the new Lord 
Lovel was so disturbed every night that he could not 
sleep in quiet ; and being at last tired of the place, he 
sold the castle and estate of his ancestors to his brother- 
in-law, the Lord Fitz-Owen, who now enjoys it, and left 
this country.” 

“ All this is news to me,” said Edmund ; “ but, father, 


THE OLD ENGLISH BAEON. 


45 


tell "me what grounds there were for the lady’s suspicion 
that her lord died unfairly ? ” “ Alas I ” said Oswald, 

•‘that is only known to God. There were strange 
thoughts in the minds of many at that time ; I had mine, 
but I will not disclose them even to you, I will not injure 
those who may be innocent ; and I leave it to Providence, 
who will doubtless, in its own best time and manner, 
punish the guilty. But let what I have told you be as if 
you had never heard it.” 

“ I thank you for these marks of your esteem and con- 
fidence,” said Edmund ; “ be assured that . I will not 
abuse them nor do I desire to pry into secrets not 
proper to be revealed. I' entirely approve your discre- 
tion, and acquiesce in your conclusion, that Provid- 
ence will, in its own time, vindicate its ways to man. 
If it were not for that trust, my situation would be in- 
supportable. I strive earnestly to deserve the esteem 
and favour of good men ; I endeavour to regulate my 
conduct so as to avoid giving offence to any man ; but I 
see, with infinite pain, that it is impossible for me to gain 
these points.” “I see it too, with much concern,” said 
Oswald ; “ and everything that I can say or do in your 
favour is misconstrued ; and by seeking to do you ser- 
vice I lose my own influence ; but I will never give my 
sanction to acts of injustice, nor join to oppress inno- 
cence. My dear child, put your trust in God ; He who 
brought light out of darkness can bring good out of 
evil.” “ I hope and trust so,” said Edmund ; “ but, 
father, if my enemies should prevail, if my lord should 
believe their stories against me, and I should be put 
out of the house with disgrace, what will become of me ? 


46 THE OLD ENGLISH BARONt 

I have nothing but my character to depend! upon ; if i 
lose that, I lose everything, and I see they seek no less- 
than my ruin.” “ Trust in my lord’s honour and jus- 
tice,” replied Oswald ; “ he knows your virtue, and he is 
not ignorant of their ill-will towards you,” “ I know" 
my lord’s justice too well to doubt it,” said Edmund ^ 
“ but would it not be better to rid him of this trouble, 
and his family of an incumbrance ? I would gladly do 
something for myself, but cannot without my lord’s 
recommendation ; and such is my situation, that I fear 
the asking for a dismission would be accounted base- 
ingratitude. Besides, when I think of leaving this house, 
my heart saddens at the thought, 'and tells me I cannot be- 
happy out of it ; yet I think I could return to a peasant’s 
life with cheeivfulness rather than live in a palace under 
disdain and contempt.” “ Have patience a little longer,, 
my son,” said Oswald ; “ I will think of some way to 
serve you, and to represent your grievances to my lord 
without offence to either ; perhaps the causes may be re- 
moved. Continue to observe the same irreproachable 
conduct, and be assured that Heaven will defend your in- 
nocence, and defeat the unjust designs of your enemies. 
Let us now return home.” 

About a week after this conference Edmund walked 
out in the fields, ruminating on the disagreeable circum- 
stances of his situation. Insensible of the time, he had 
been out several hours without perceiving how the day 
wore away, when he heard himself called by name several 
times. Looking backward he saw his friend Mr, William, 
and hallooed to him. He came running towards him, 
and, leaping over the stile, stood still a while to recover 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


47 


his breath. “ What is the matter, sir I ” said Edmund. 

Your looks betoken some tidings of importance.” With 
a look of tender concern and affection the youth pressed 
his hand and spoke : “ My dear Edmund, you must 
come home with me directly ; your old enemies have 
united to ruin you with my father ; my brother Robert 
has declared that he thinks there will be no peace in our 
family till you are dismissed from it, and told my father 
he hoped he would not break with his kinsmen rather 
than give up Edmund.” “ But what do they lay to my 
charge ? ” said Edmund. “ I cannot rightly understand,” 
answered William, “for they make a great mystery of 
it ; something of great consequence they say, but they 
will not tell me what. ’However, my father has told 
them that they must bring their accusation before your 
face, and he will have you answer them publicly, I have 
been seeking you this hour to inform you of this, that 
you might be prepared to defend yourself against your 
accusers.” “ God reward you, sir,” said Edmund, “ for 
all your goodness to me ! I see they are determined to 
ruin me, if possible ; I shall be compelled to leave the 
castle ; but whatever becomes of me be assured you shall 
have no cause to blush for your kindness and partiality 
to your Edmund.” ‘‘ I know it, I am sure of it,” said 
William ; “and here I swear to you, as Jonathan did to 
David ; I beseech heaven to bless me, as my friendship to 
you shall be steady and inviolable ? ” “ Only so long as 

I shall deserve so great a blessing,” interrupted Edmund. 
“ I know your worth and honour,” continued William ; 
“ and such is my confidence in your merit, that I firmly 
believe heaven designs you for something extraordinary ; 


48 


THE OLD ENGLISH BAHON. 


and I expect that some great and unforeseen event will 
raise you to the rank and station to which jou appear to 
belong. Promise me, therefore, that whatever may be 
your fate, you will preserve the same friendship for me 
that I bear to you.” Edmund was so much affected 
that he could not answer but in broken sentences. “ Oh, 
my friend ! my master I I vow— I promise— my heart 
promises 1 ” He kneeled down with clasped hands and 
uplifted eyes ; William kneeled by him ; and they invoked 
the Supreme to witness to their friendship, and implored 
His blessing upon it. They then rose up and embraced 
each other, while tears of cordial affection bedewed their 
•cheeks. 

As soon as they were able to speak, Edmund conjured 
his friend not to expose himself to the displeasure of his 
•family out of kindness to him. “ I submit to the will of 
Heaven,” said he ; “ I wait with patience its disposal of 
me. If I leave the castle I will find means to inform you 
■of my fate and fortunes.” “ I hope,” sai^ William, “ that 
things may yet be accommodated ; but do not take any 
resolution ; let us act as occasions arise.” 

In this manner these amiable youths conferred till they 
arrived at the castle. The baron was sitting in the great 
hall on a high chair, with a footstep before, with the state 
and dignity of a judge ; before him stood Father Oswald, 
as pleading the cause for himself and Edmund ; round 
the baron’s chair stood the eldest son and his kinsmen 
with their principal domestics ; the old servant Joseph 
;at some distance, with his head leaning forward, as lis- 
tening with the utmost attention to what passed. Mr. 
William approached the chair. “ My lord. I have found 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


49 


Edmund, and brought him to answer for himself.” “ You 
have done well,” said the baron. “Edmund, come 
hither ; you are charged with some indiscretions, for I 
cannot properly call them crimes. I am resolved to do 
justice between you and your accusers ; I shall therefore 
hear you as well as them ; for no man ought to be con- 
demned unheard.” “My lord,” said Edmund, with 
equal modesty and intrepidity, “ I demand my trial : if I 
shall be found guilty of any crimes against my bene- 
factor, let me be punished with the utmost rigour ; but 
if, as I trust, no such charge can be proved against me, I 
know your goodness too well to doubt that you will do 
justice to me as well as to others ; and if it should so 
happen that, by the misrepresentations of my enemies 
(who have long sought my ruin privately, and now avow 
it*publicly), if by their artifices your lordship should be 
induced to think me guilty, I would submit to .your sen- 
tence in silence, and appeal to another tribunal.” “ See,” 
said Mr. Wenlock, “ the confidence of the fellow ; he 
already supposes that my lord must be in the wrong if 
he condemns him ; and then this meek creature will ap- 
peal to another tribunal. To whose will he appeal ? I 
desire he may be made to explain himself.” “That I 
will immediately,” said Edmund, “ without being com- 
pelled : I only meant to appeal to Heaven, that best 
knows my innocence.” “ It is true,” said the baron, 
“and no offence to any one; man can only judge by 
appearances, but Heaven knows the heart. Let every 
one of you bear this in mind, that you may not bring a 
false accusation, nor justify yourselves by concealing the 
truth. Edmund, I am informed that Oswald and you 


60 


TME OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


have made very free with me and my family in some of 
your conversations ; you were heard to censure me for the 
absurdity of building a new apartment on the west side 
of the castle, when there was one on the east side unin- 
habited. Oswald said that apartment was shut up 
because it was haunted : that some shocking murder had 
been committed there ; adding many particulars con- 
cerning Lord Level’s family, such as he could not know 
the truth of, and if he had known, was imprudent to re- 
veal. But further, you complained of ill-treatment here,, 
and mentioned an intention to leave the castle, and seek 
your fortune elsewhere. I shall examine into all these 
particulars in turn. At present I desire you, Edmund, 
to relate all that you can remember of the conversation 
that passed between you and Oswald in the wood on 
last Monday.” “G-ood God!” said Edmund, “is it pos- 
sible that any person could put such a construction upon 
so innocent a conversation.’* 

“ Tell me, then,” said the baron, “ the particulars of it.” 
“ I will, my lord, as nearly as my memory will allow 
me.” Accordingly he related most of the conversation 
that passed in the wood ; but in the part tl|it concerned 
the family of Lovel he abbreviated as much as possible. 
Oswald’s countenance cleared up, for he had done the 
same before Edmund came. The baron called to his 
eldest son : “ You hear. Sir Robert, what both parties 
say ; I have {questioned them separately ; neither of them 
knew what the other would answer, yet their accounts 
agree almost to a word.” “ I confess they do so,” 
answered Sir Robert ; “ but, sir, it is very bold and pre- 
suming for them to speak of our family affairs in such a 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


51 


manner ; if my uncle. Lord Level, should come to kno\y 
it, he would punish them severely ; and if his honour 
reflected upon, it becomes us to resent and to punish it.”' 
Here Mr. Wenlock broke out into a passion, and offered td 
swear to the truth of his accusation. “ Be silent, Dick,”' 
said the baron ; “ I shall j udge for myself. I protest,” 
said he to Sir Robert, “ I never heard so much as Oswald 
has now told me concerning the deaths of Lord and Lady 
Lovel ; I think it is best to let such stories alone till they 
die away of themselves. I had, indeed, heard of an idle 
story of the east apartment’s being haunted when I first 
came hither, and my brother advised me to shut it up till 
it should be forgotten ; but what has now been said has 
suggested a thought that may make that apartment 
useful in future. I have thought of a punishment for 
Edmund that will stop the mouth of his accusers for the 
present, and, as I hope, will establish his credit with 
everybody. Edmund, will you undertake this adventure 
for me ? ” “ What adventure, my lord ? ” said Edmund ; 

“ there is nothing I would not undertake to show my 
gratitude and fidelity to you. As to my-courage, I would 
show that at the expense of my malicious accusers, if 
respect to my lord’s blood did not tie up my hands. As I 
am situated, I beg it may be put to the proof in what- 
ever way is most for my master’s service.” “ That is well 
said,” cried the baron. As to your enemies, I am 
thinking how to separate you from them effectually ; of 
that I shall speak hereafter, I am going to try Edmund’s 
courage ; he shall sleep three nights in the east apart- 
ment, that he may testify to all whether it be haunted 
or not ; afterwards* I will have that apartment set in 


52 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


order, and my eldest son shall take it for his own ; it will 
spare me some expense, and answer my purpose as well, 
or better. Will you consent, Edmund ? ” “ With all my 

heart, my lord ! ” said Edmund. “ I have not wilfully 
offended Gfod or man ; I have, therefore, nothing to fear.” 
“ Brave boy ! ” said my lord ; “ I am not deceived in you, 
nor shall you be deceived in j’-our reliance on me. You 
shall sleep in that apartment to-night, and to-morrow I 
will have some private talk with you. Do you, Oswald, 
go with me ; I want to have some conversation with you. 
The rest of you retire to your studies and business ; I will 
meet you at dinner.” 

Edmund retired to his own chamber, and Oswald was 
shut up with the baron ; he defended Edmund’s cause 
and his own, and laid open as much as he knew of the 
malice and designs of his enemies. The baron expressed 
much concern at the untimely deaths of Lord and Lady 
Lovel, and desired Oswald to be circumspect in regard 
to what he had to say of the circumstances attending 
them ; adding, that he was both innocent and ignorant 
of any treachery towards either of them. Oswald ex- 
cused himself for his communications to Edmund, saying, 
they fell undesignedly into the subject, and that he men- 
tioned it in confidence to him only. 

The baron sent orders to the young men to come to 
dinner ; but they refused to meet Edmund at table ; ac- 
cordingly he ate in the steward’s apartment. After 
dinner the baron tried to reconcile his kinsmen to 
Edmund ; but found it impossible. They saw their de- 
signs were laid open ; and, judging of him by themselves, 
thought it impossible to forgive or be forgiven. The 


THE OLD EiNTGLISH BARON. 


53 


bjiron ordered them to keep in separate apartments ; he 
took his eldest son for his own companion, as being the 
most reasonable of the malcontents ; and ordered his 
kinsmen to keep their own apartments, with a servant 
to watch their motions. Mr. William had Oswald for his 
companion. Old J oseph was bid to attend on Edmund ; 
to serve him at supper ; and, at the hour of nine, to con- 
duct him to the haunted apartment. Edmund desired 
that he might have a light and his sword, lest his enemies 
should endeavour to surprise him. The baron thought 
his request reasonable, and complied with it. 

There was a great search to find the key of the apart- 
ment ; at last it was discovered by Edmund himself, 
among a parcel of old rusty keys in a lumber room. The 
barcioi sent the young men their suppers to their re- 
spective apartments. Edmund declined eating, and de- 
sired to be conducted to his apartment. He was accom- 
panied by most of the servants to the door of it ; they 
wished him success; and prayed for him as if he had been 
going to execution. 

The door was with great difficulty unlocked, and 
Joseph gave Edmund a lighted lamp, and wished him a 
good night ; he returned his good wishes to them all with 
the utmost cheerfulness, took the key on the inside of the 
door, and then dismissed them. 

He then took a survey of his chamber : the furniture 
by long neglect was decayed and dropping to pieces ; the 
bed was devoured by moths, and occupied by the rats, 
who had built their nests there with impunity for many 
generations. The bedding was very damp, for the rain 
had forced its way through the ceiling ; he determined, 


54 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


therefore, to lie down in his clothes. There were two 
doors on the further side of the room, with keys in them ; 
being not at all sleepy, he resolved to examine them ; he 
attempted one lock, and opened it with ease : he went into 
a large dining-room, the furniture of which was in the 
same tattered condition ; out of this was a large closet 
with some books in it, and hung round with coats of arms, 
with genealogies and alliances of the house of Lovel ; he 
amused himself here some minutes, and then returned 
into the bed-chamber. 

He recollected the other door, and resolved to see where 
it ied CO ; the key was rusted in the lock, and resisted 
his attempts : he set the lamp on the ground, and, exert- 
ing all his strength, opened the door, and at the same 
instant the wind of it blew out the lamp, and left him in 
utter darkness. At the same moment he heard a hollow 
rustling noise like that of a person coming through a 
narrow passage. Till this moment not one idea of fear 
had approached the mind of Edmund ; but just then all 
the concurrent circumstances of his situation struck 
upon his heart, and gave him a new and disagreeable 
sensation. He paused awhile ; and recollecting himself 
cried out aloud, “ What should I fear ? I have not 
wilfully offended God or man ; why, then, should I doubt 
protection? But I have not yet implored the Divine 
assistance ; how then can I expect it ? ” Upon this he 
kneeled down, and prayed earnestly, resigning himself 
wholly, to the wdll of Heaven. While he was yet speaking 
his courage returned, and he resumed his confidence ; 
again he approached the door from whence the noise pro- 
ceeded ; he thought he saw a glimmering light upon a 


THE OLD ENGLISH BAEON. 


55 


staircase before Mm. “ If,” said he, “ this apartment is 
haunted, I will use my endeavours to discover the cause 
of it : and if the spirit appears visibly, I will speak to it.” 

He was preparing to descend the staircase when he 
heard several knocks at the door by which he first 
entered the room ; and, stepping backward, the door was 
clapped to with great violence. Again fear attacked 
him ; but he resisted it, and boldly cried out, “ Who is 
there ? ” A voice at the door answered, “It is I, Joseph, 
your friend.” “What do you want?” said Edmund. 
“'I have brought you some wood to make a fire,” said 
Joseph. “ I thank you kindly,” said Edmund, “ but my 
lamp is gone out ; I will try to find the door, however.” 
After some trouble he found and opened it ; and was not 
sorry to see his friend Joseph, with a light in one hand, 
a flagon of beer in the other, and a fagot upon his shoulder. 
“ I come,” said the good old man, “ to bring you some- 
thing to keep up your spirits. The evening is cold ; I 
know this room wants airing ; and besides that, my 
master, I think your present undertaking requires a little 
assistance.” 

“ My good friend,” said Edmund, “ I never shall be able 
to deserve or requite your kindness to me.”- “My dear 
sir,” said Joseph, “ you always deserved more than I 
could do for you, and I think I shall yet live to see you 
defeat the designs of your enemies, and acknowledge the 
service of your friends.” “ Alas ! ” said Edmund, “ I see 
little prospect of that ! ” “ I see,” said Joseph, “ some- 

thing that persuades me you are designed for great 
things ; and I perceive that things are working about to 
some great end : have courage, my master ; my heart 


56 


THE OLD ENGLISH BAEOJ5. 


beats strangely high upon your account.” “You make 
me smile,” said Edmund. “ I am glad to see it, sir ; may 
you smile all the rest of your life ! ” “ I thank your 

honest affection,” returned Edmund, “ though it is too 
partial to me. You had better go to bed, however ; if it 
is known that you visit me here, it will be bad for us 
both.” “ So I will, presently ; but, please G-od, I will 
come here again to-morrow night, when all the family 
are a-bed ; and I will tell you some things that you never 
yet heard.” “ But pray tell me,” said Edmund, “ where 
does that door lead to ? ” “Upon a passage that ends in 
a staircase that leads to the lower rooms ; and there is 
likewise a door out of that passage into the dining-room.” 
“ And what rooms are there below stairs ? ” said Edmund. 
“The same as above,” replied Joseph. “ Very well ; then 
I wish you a good-night ; we will talk further to- 
morrow.” “ Ay, to-morrow night ; and in this place, my 
dear master.” “ Why do you call me your master ? I 
never was nor ever can be your master.” “ God only knows 
that,” said the good old man ; “ good-night, and Heaven 
bless you ! ” “ Good-night, my worthy friend ! ” 

Joseph withdrew, and Edmund returned to the other 
door, and attempted several times to open it in vain ; his 
hands were benumbed and tired ; at length he gave over. 
He made a fire in the chimney, placed the lamp on a 
table, and opened one of the window-shutters to admit 
the day-light : he then recommended himself to the 
Divine protection, and threw himself upon the bed ; he 
presently fell asleep, and continued in that state till the 
sun saluted him with his orient beams through the 
window he had opened. 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


57 


As soon as lie was perfectly awake he strove to recollect 
his dreams. He thought that he heard people coming up 
the staircase that he had a glimpse of ; that the door 
opened, and there entered a warrior, leading a lady by the 
hand, who was youAg and beautiful, but pale and wan ; 
the man was dressed in complete armour; and his helmet 
was down. They approached the bed ; they undrew the 
curtains. He thought the man said, “ Is this our child ? ” 
The woman replied, “ It is ; and the hour approaches that 
he shall be known for such.” They then separated, and 
one stood on each side of the bed ; their hands met over 
his head, and they gave him a solemn benediction. He 
strove to rise and pay them his respects, but they forbade 
him : and the lady said, “ Sleep in peace, 0 my Edmund ! 
for those who are the true possessors of this apartment 
are employed in thy preservation ; sleep on, sweet hope 
of a house that is thought past hope ! ” Upon this they 
withdrew, and went out at the same door by which they 
entered, and he heard them descend the stairs. After 
this, he followed a funeral as chief mourner ; he saw the 
whole procession, and heard the ceremonies performed. 
He was snatched away from this mournful scene to one of 
a contrary kind, a stately feast, at which he presided ; 
and he heard himself congratulated as a husband and a 
father ; his friend William sat by his side, and his happi- 
ness was complete. Every succeeding idea was happi- 
ness without alloy ; and his mind was not idle a moment 
till the morning sun awakened him. He perfectly re- 
membered his dreams, and meditated on what all these 
things should portend. “ Am I then,” said he, “ not 
Edmund Twyf ord, but somebody of consequence, in whose 


58 


THK OLD ENGLISH BARON, 


fate so many people are interested ? Vain thought ! that 
must have arisen from the partial suggestions of my two 
friends, Mr. William and old Joseph.” 

He lay thus reflecting, when a servant knocked at the 
door, and told him it was past six o’clock, and that the 
baron expected him to breakfast in an hour. He rose 
immediately, paid his tribute of thanks to Heaven for 
its protection, and went from his chamber in high health 
and spirits. 

He walked in the garden till the hour of breakfast, and 
then attended the baron. “ Good morrow, Edmund ! 
said he ; “ how have you rested in your new apartment ? ” 
Extremely well, my lord,” answered he. “ I am glad 
to hear it,” said the baron ; “ but I did not know your 
accommodations were so bad as Joseph tells me they 
are.” “ ’Tis of no consequence,” said Edmund ; “ if they 
were much worse, I could dispense with them for three 
nights.” “ Very well,” said the baron ; “ you are a brave 
lad , I am satisfied with you, and will excuse the other 
two nights.” “ But, my lord, I will not be excused ; no 
one shall have reason to suspect my courage : I am de- 
termined to go through the remaining nights upon many 
accounts.” “That shall be as you please,” said my lord. 
“ I think of you as you deserve ; so well, that I shall ask 
your advice by-and-by in some affairs of consequence.” 
“ My life and services are yours, my lord ; command them 
freely.” “ Let Oswald be called in,” said my lord ; “ he 
shall be one of our consultation.” He came ; the servants 
were dismissed, and the, baron spoke as follows : “Edmund, 
when first I took you into my family it was at the 
request of my sons and kinsmen ; I bear witness to your 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


69 


good behaviour ; you have not deserved to lose their 
esteem ; but, nevertheless, I have observed, for some years 
past, that all but my son William have set their faces 
against you. I see their meanness, and I perceive their 
motives ; but they are, and must be, my relations, and I 
would rather govern them by love than fear. I love and 
esteem your virtues ; I cannot give you up to gratify their 
humours. My son William has lost the affections of the 
rest, for that he bears to you ; but he has increased my 
regard to him. I think myself bound in honour, to him 
and you, to provide for you. I cannot do it, as I wished, 
under my own roof. If you stay here, I see nothing but 
confusion in my family ; yet I cannot put you out of it 
disgracefully. I want to think of some way to prefer 
you, that you may leave this house with honour ; and I 
desire both of you to give me your advice in this matter. 
If Edmund will tell me in what way I can employ him to 
his own honour and my advantage, I am ready to do it ; 
let him propose it, and Oswald shall moderate between 
us.” 

Here he stopped ; and Edmund, whose sighs almost 
choked him, threw himself at the baron’s feet, and wet 
his hand with his tears. “ Oh, my noble, generous bene- 
factor ; do you condescend to consult such a one as me 
upon the state of your family ? Does your most amiable 
and beloved son incur the ill-will of his brothers and 
kinsmen for my sake ? What am I, that I should disturb 
the peace of this noble family ! Oh, my lord, send me 
away directly ; I should be unworthy to live if I did not 
earnestly endeavour to restore your happiness. You have 
given me a noble education, and I trust I shall not dis- 


60 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


grace it. If you will recommend me, and give me a 
character, I fear not to make my own fortune.” The 
baron wiped his eyes. “ I wish to do this, my child, but 
in what way ? ” “ My lord,” said Edmund, “ I will open 

my heart to you. I have served with credit in the army, 
and I should prefer a soldier’s life.” “ You please me 
well,” said the baron : “ I will send you to France, and 
give you a recommendation to the regent ; he knows you 
personall}', and will prefer you for my sake, and for your 
own merit.” “My lord, you overwhelm me with your 
goodness ; I am but your creature, and my life shall be 
devoted to your service.” “ But,” said the baron, “ how 
to dispose of you till the spring ? ” “ That,” said Oswald, 

“ may be thought of at leisure ; I am glad that you have 
resolved, and I congratulate you both.” The baron put 
an end to the conversation by desiring Edmund to go 
with him into the menage to see his horses. He ordered 
Oswald to acquaint his son William with all that had 
passed, and to try to persuade the young men to meet 
Edmund and William at dinner. 

The baron took Edmund with him into his menage, to 
see some horses he had lately purchased. While they 
were examining the beauties and defects of those noble 
and useful animals, Edmund declared that he preferred 
Caradoc, a horse he had broke himself, to any other in 
my lord’s stables. “ Then,” said the baron, “ I will give 
him to you ; and you shall go upon him to s«ek your 
fortune.” He made new acknowledgments for this gift, 
and declared he would prize it highly for the giver’s 
sake. “But I shall not part with yo«i yet,” said my 
lord. “ I will first carry all my points with these saucy 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


61 


boys, and oblige them to do you justice.” “ You hav€ 
already done that,” said Edmund, “ and I will not suffej 
any of your lordship’s blood to undergo any furthei 
humiliation upon my account. I think, with humble 
submission to your better judgment, the sooner I go hence 
the better.” 

While they were speaking, Oswald came to them, and 
said that the young men had absolutely refused to dine 
at the table if Edmund was present. “ ’Tis well,” said 
the baron ; “ I shall find a way to punish their contumacy 
hereafter ; I will make them know that I am the master 
here. Edmund, and you, Oswald, shall spend the day in 
my apartment above stairs. William shall dine with me 
alone ; and I will acquaint him with our determination : 
my son Robert, and his cabal, shall be prisoners in the 
great parlour. Edmund shall, according to his own 
desire, spend this and the following night in the haunted 
apartment, and this for his sake and my own ; for if I 
should now contradict my former order it would subject 
both to their impertinent reflections.” 

He then took Oswald aside, and charged him not to let 
Edmund go out of his sight ; for if he should come in 
the way of those implacable enemies, he trembled for 
the consequences. He then walked back to the stables, 
and the two friends returned into the house. 

They had a long conversation on various subjects. In 
the course of it Edmund acquainted Oswald with all that 
had passed between him and Joseph the preceding night, 
the curiosity he had raised in him, and his promise to 
gratify it the night following. “ I wish,” said Oswald, 
“ you would permit me to be one of your party.” “ How 


62 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


can that be,” said Edmund ; “ we shall be watched, per- 
haps ; and, if discovered, what excuse can you make for 
coming there? — Besides, if it were known, I shall be 
branded with the imputation of cowardice ; and, thou^ 
I have borne much. I will not promise to bear that 
patiently.” “ Never fear,” replied Oswald ; “ I will speak 
to Joseph about it ; and after prayers are over, and the 
family gone to bed, I will steal away from my own 
chamber, and come to you. I am strongly interested in 
your affairs ; and I cannot be easy unless you will receive 
me into your company. I will bind myself to secrecy in 
any manner you shall enjoin.” “ Your word is sufficient,” 
said Edmund : “ I have as much reason to trust you, 
father, as any man living, I should be ungrateful to 
refuse you anything in my power to grant. But, suppose 
the apartment should really be haunted, would you have 
resolution enough to pursue the adventure to a dis- 
covery ? ” “I hope so,” said Oswald ; “ but have you any 
reason to believe it is ? ” “I have,” said Edmund ; “ but 
I have not opened my lips upon this subject to any 
creature but yourself. This night I purpose, if Heaven 
permit, to go over all the rooms; and though I had 
formed this design, I will confess that your company will 
strengthen my resolution. I will have no reserves to you 
in any respect ; but I must put a seal upon your lips.” 
Oswald swore secrecy till he should be permitted to dis- 
close the mysteries of that apartment ; and both of them 
waited, in solemn expectation, the event of the approach- 
ing night. 

In the afternoon Mr. William was allowed to visit his 
friend. An affecting interview passed between them : he 


THE OLD ENGLISH BAEON. 


63 


lamented tlie necessity of Edmund’s departure, and they 
took a solemn leave of each other, as if they foreboded it 
would be long ere they should meet again. 

About the same hour as on the preceding evening, 
Joseph came to conduct Edmund to his apartment. “ You 
will find better accommodation than you had last night,” 
said he, “ and all by my lord’s own order.” “ I every hour 
recerve some proof of his goodness,” said Edmund. When 
they arrived, he found a good fire in the chamber, and a 
table covered with cold meats, and a flagon of strong 
beer. “ Sit down and get your supper, my dear master,” 
said Joseph : “ I must attend my lord ; but as soon as the 
family are gone to bed I will visit you again.” “ Do so,” 
said Edmund ; “ but first see father Oswald ; he has 
something to say to you : j-’ou may trust him, for I have 
no reserves to him.” “ Well, sir, I will see him, if you 
desire it ; and I will come to you as soon as possible. ’ 
So saying he went his way, and Edmund sat down to 
supper. 

After a moderate refreshment, he kneeled down, and 
prayed with the greatest fervency. He resigned himself 
to the disjiosal of Heaven. “ I am nothing,” said he, “ I 
desire to be nothing, but what thou, 0 Lord, pleasest to 
make me. If it is Thy will that I should return to my 
former obscurity, be it obeyed with cheerfulness ; and if 
Thou art pleased to exalt me, I will look up to Thee as 
the only fountain of honour and dignity.” While he 
prayed, he felt an enlargement of heart beyond what he 
had ever experienced before ; all idle fears were dispersed, 
and his heart glowed with divine love and affiance ; he 
seemed raised above the world and all its pursuits. He 


64 THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. , v 

continued wrapped up in mental devotion, till a knocking 
at the door obliged him to rise, and let in his two friends, 
who came without shoes, and on tiptoe, to visit him. 

“ Save you, my son,” said the friar ; “ you look cheerful ^ 
and happy.” “ I am so, father,” said Edmund ; “ I have 
resigned myself to the disposal of Heaven, and I find my 
heart strengthened above what I can express.” “ Heaven 
be praised,” said Oswald ; “ I believe you are designed for 
great things, my son.” “ What I do you too encourage 
my ambition ? ” said Edmund. “ Strange concurrence of 
circumstances ! Sit down, my friends ; and do you, my 
good Joseph, tell me the particulars you promised last 
night.” They drew their chairs round the fire, and 
Joseph began as follows : — > 

“ You have heard of the untimely death of the • late 
Lord Lovel, my noble and worthy master ; perhaps you 
may have also heard that from that time this apartment 
was haunted. What passed the other day, when my lord 
questioned you both on this head, brought all the cir- 
cumstances fresh into my mind. You then said there 
were suspicions that he came not fairly to his end. I 
trust you both, and will speak what I know of it. There 
was a person suspected of this murder, and who do you 
think it was ? ” “ You must speak out,” said Oswald. 

“Why, then,” said Joseph, “it was the present Lord 
Lovel.” “You speak my thoughts,” said Oswald* 
“but proceed to the proofs.” “I will,” said Joseph. 

“ From the time that my lord’s death was reported there 
were strange whisperings and consultations between 
the new lord and some of the servants ; there was a deal 
of private business carried on in this apartment. Soon. 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 6>> 

after they gave out that my poor lady was distracted ; but 
she threw out strong expressions that savoured nothing 
of madness. She said that the ghost of her departed lord 
had appeared to her, and revealed the circumstances of 
his murder. None of the servants but one were per- 
mitted to see her. At this very time, Sir Walter, the new 
lord, had the cruelty to offer love to her. He urged her 
to marry him ; and one of her women overheard her say, 
she would sooner die than give her hand to the man who 
caused the death of her lord. Soon after this, we were 
told my lady was dead. The Lord Lovel made a public 
and sumptuous funeral for her.” ‘‘ That is true,” said 
Oswald ; “ for I was a novice, and assisted at it.” 

“ Well,” says Josqfch. ” now comes my part of the story. 
As I was coming home from the burial, I overtook Roger, 
our ploughman. Said he, ‘ What think you of this 
burying ? ’ ‘ What should I think,’' said I, ‘ but we have 

lost the best master and lady that we shall ever know ? 

‘ God, he knows,’ quoth Roger, ‘ whether they be living’ 
or dead ; but if I ever saw my lady in my life, I saw her 
alive the night they said she died.’ I tried to convince 
him that he was mistaken ; but he offered to take his 
oath, that the very night they said she died, he saw her 
come out at the garden gate into the fields ; that she often 
stopped, like a person in pain, and then went forward 
again, until he had lost sight of her. Now it is certain 
that her time was out, and she expected to lie down every 
day, and they did not pretend that she died in child-bed. 
I thought upon what I heard, but I said nothing. Roger 
told the same story to another servant, so he was called 
to an account. The story was hushed up, and the foolish 


€6 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


fellow said, lie was verily persuaded it was her ghost that 
he saw. Now you must take notice, that from this tim^^ 
they began to talk about that this apartment was 
troubled ; and not only this, but at last the new lord 
could not sleep in quiet in his own room ; and this 
induced him to sell the castle to his brother-in-law, and 
get out of this country as fast as possible. He took most 
of the servants away with him, and Roger among the 
rest. As for me, they thought I knew nothing, and so 
they left me behind. But I was neither blind nor deaf ; 
though I could hear, and see, and say nothing.” 

“ This is a dark story,” said Oswald. “ It is so,” said 
Edmund ; “ but why should Joseph seem to think it con- 
cerns me in particular ? ” “ Ah ! dear sir,” said Joseph, 

“ I must tell you, though I never uttered it to mortal 
man before. The striking resemblance this young man 
bears to my dear lord, the strange dislike his reputed 
father took to him, his gentle manners, his generous 
heart, his noble qualities, so uncommon in those of his 
birth and breeding, the sound of his voice — you may 
smile at the strength of my fancy ; but I cannot put it 
out of my mind but that he is my own master’s son.” 

At these words Edmund changed colour and trembled. 
He clapped his hand upon his breast, and looked up to 
heaven in silence. His dream recurred to his memory, 
and struck upon his heart. He related it to his attentive 
auditors. “ The ways of Providence are wonderful,” said 
Oswald. “ If this be so, Heaven, in its own time, will 
make it appear.” 

Here a silence of several minutes ensued ; when, 
suddenly, they were awakened from their reverie by a 


THE OLD ENGLISH BAKON. 


67 


violent noise in the rooms underneath them. It seemed 
like the clashing of arms, and something seemed to fall 
down with violence. 

They started, and Edmund rose up with a look full of 
resolution and intrepidity. “ I am called,” said he. “ I 
obey the call ! ” He took up a lamp, and went to the 
door that he had opened the night before. Oswald 
followed with his rosary in his hand, and Joseph last, 
with trembling steps. The door opened with ease, and 
they descended the stairs in profound silence. 

The lower rooms answerfed exactly to those above ; 
there were two parlours and a large closet. They saw 
nothing remarkable in these rooms, except two pictures 
that were turned with their faces to the wall. Joseph 
took the courage to turn them. “These,” said he, “are 
the portraits of my lord and lady. Father, look at this 
face, do you know who is like it?” “I should think,” 
said Oswald, “ it was done for Edmund.” “ I am.” said 
Edmund, “struck with the resemblance myself ; but let 
us go o:i ; I feel myself inspired with unusual courage. 
Let us open the closet door.” Oswald stopped him short. 
“ Take heed,” said he, “ lest the wind of the door put out 
the lamp. I will open this door.” He attempted it with- 
out success. Joseph did the same, but to no purpose. 
Edmund gave the lamp to Joseph : he approached the 
door, tried the key, and it gave way to his hand in a 
moment. “ This adventure belongs,” said he, “ to me 
only, that is plain : bring the lamp forward.” Oswald 
repeated his Pater-Hoster, in which they all joined, and 
then entered the closet. 

The first thing that presented itself to their view was a 


68 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


complete suit of armour, that seemed to have fallen down 
on a heap. “ Behold ! ” said Edmund, “ this made the 
noise we heard above.” They took it up and examined it 
piece by piece. The inside of the breastplate was stained 
with blood. “See here!” said Edmund; “what think 
you of this ? ” “ ’Tis my lord’s armour,” said Joseph ; “ I 

know it well. Here has been bloody work in this 
closet ! ” Going forward he stumbled over something : 
it was a ring with the arms of Lovel engraved upon it. 
“ This is my lord’s ring,” said Joseph ; “1 have seen him 
wear it. I give it to you, sir, as the right owner ; and 
most religiously do I believe you to be his son.” “ Heaven 
only knows that,” said Edmund ; “ and if it permits, I 
will know who was my father before I am a day older.’" 
While he was speaking he shifted his ground, and per- 
ceived that the boards rose up on the other side of the 
closet. Upon further examination, they found that the 
whole floor was loose, and a table that stood over them 
concealed the circumstance from a casual observer. “ I 
perceive,” said Oswald, “ that some great discovery is at 
hand.” “ God defend us ! ” said Edmund ; “ but I verily 
believe that the person that owned this armour lies 
buried beneath us.” Upon this a dismal hollow groan 
was heard as if from underneath. A solemn silence ensued, 
and marks of fear were visible upon all three. The 
groan was thrice heard : Oswald made signs for them to 
kneel, and he prayed audibly that Heaven would direct 
them how to act ; he also prayed for the soul of the 
departed, that it might rest in peace. After this he rose, 
but Edmund continued kneeling ; he vowed solemnly to 
devote himself to the discovery of this secret, a)id the 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


69 


avenging the death of the person there buried. He then 
rose up. “ It would be to no purpose,” said he, “ for us 
to examine further now ; when I am properly authorised 
I will have this place opened : I trust that time is not 
far off.” “ I believe it,” said Oswald ; “ you are designed 
by heaven to be its instrument in bringing this deed of 
darkness to light. We are your creatures ; only tell us 
what you would have us do, and we are ready to obey 
your commands.” “I only demand your silence,” said 
Edmund, “ till I call for your evidence, and then you 
must speak all you know, and all you suspect.” “ Oh,” 
said Joseph, “ that I may but live to see that day, and I 
shall have lived long enough.” “ Come,” said Edmund, 
“let us return up-stairs, and we will consult further 
how I shall proceed.” So saying he went out of the 
closet, and they followed him. He locked the door, and 
he took the key out ; “ I will keep this,” said he, “ till I 
have power to use it to purpose, lest any one should pre- 
sume to pry into the secret of this closet. I will always 
carry it about me to remind me of what I have under- 
taken.” 

Upon this they returned up-stairs into the bed-chamber ; 
all was still, and they heard nothing more to disturb 
them. “ How,” said Edmund, “ is it possible that I should 
be the son of Lord Lovel 1 for, however circumstances 
have seemed to encourage such a notion, what reason 
have I to believe it ? ” “I am strangely puzzled about 
it,” said Oswald. “ It seems unlikely that so good a man 
as Lord Lovel should corrupt the wife of a peasant his 
vassal ; and especially, being so lately married to a lady 
with whom he was passionately in love.” “Hold there I ** 


70 


THE OLD ENGLISH BAHON, 


said Joseph ; “ my lord was incapable of such an action. 
If master Edmund is the son of my lord, he is also the 
son of my lady.” ‘‘How can that be?” said Edmund. 
“ I don’t know how/’ said Joseph ; “ but there is a person 
who can tell if she will : I mean Margery Twyford, who 
calls herself your mother.” “You meet my thoughts,” 
said Edmund ; “ I had resolved before you spoke to visit 
her, and to interrogate her on the subject. I will ask my 
lord’s permission to go this very day.” “ That is right,” 
said Oswald ; “ but be cautious and prudent in your 
inquiries.” “If you.” said Edmund, “would bear me 
company, I should do better ; she might think herself 
obliged to answer your questions ; and, being less inter- 
ested in the event, you would be more discreet in your 
interrogations.” “ That I will most readily,” said he ; 
“ and I will ask my lord’s permission for us both.” “ This 
point is well determined,” said Joseph ; “ I am impatient 
for the result ; and I believe my feet will carry me to 
meet you whether I consent or not.” “ I am as impatient 
as you,” said Oswald ; “ but let us be silent as the grave, 
and let not a word or look indicate anything unknown, 
or mysterious.” 

The daylight began to dawn upon their conference ; 
and Edmund observing it, begged his friends to with- 
draw in silence. They did so, and left Edmund to his 
own recollections. His thoughts were too much em- 
ployed for sleep to approach him ; he threw himself upon 
the bed, and lay meditating how he should proceed ; a 
thousand schemes offered themselves, and were rejected ; 
but he resolved at all events to leave Baron Fitz-Owen’s 
family the first opportunity that presented itself. 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


71 


He was summoned, as before, to attend mj lord at 
breakfast, during which he was silent, absent, and 
reserved. My lord observed it, and rallied him, inquiring 
how he had spent the night. “ In reflecting upon my 
situation, my lord, and in laying plans for my future 
conduct.” Oswald took the hint, and asked permission to 
visit Edmund’s mother in his company, and acquaint her 
with his intention of leaving the country soon. He con- 
sented freely, but seemed unresolved about Edmund’s 
departure. 

They set out directly, and Edmund went hastily to old 
Twyford’s cottage, declaring that every field seemed a 
mile to him, “ Kestrain your warmth, my son,” said 
Oswald ; “ compose your mind, and recover your breath, 
before you enter upon a business of such consequence.” 
Margery met them at the door, and asked Edmund what 
wind blew him thither. “ Is it so very surprising,” said 
he, “ that I should visit my parents ? ” “ Yes, it is,” said 
she, “ considering the treatment you have met with from 
us ; but since Andrew is not in the house, I may say I 
am glad to see you. Lcrd bless me, what a fine youth 
you be grown ! ’Tis a long time since I saw you ; but 
that is not my fault ; many a cross-word and many a 
blow have I had on your account ; but I may now 
venture to embrace my dear child.” Edmund came for- 
ward and embraced her fervently ; the starting tears, on 
both sides, evinced their affection. “ And why,” said he,. 
“ should my father forbid you to embrace your child ? 
what have I ever done to deserve his hatred ? ” “ No- 

thing, my dear boy ! you were always good and tender- 
hearted, and deserved the love of everybody.” “ It is not 


72 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


common,” said Edmund, “ for a parent to hate his first- 
born son without his having’ deserved it.” “ This is 
true,” said Oswald ; it is uncommon, it is unnatural ; nay, 
I am of opinion it is almost impossible. I am so con- 
vinced of this truth, that I believe the man who thus 
hates and abuses Edmund cannot be his father.” In 
saying this, he observed her countenance attentively ; she 
changed colour apparently. “ Come,” said he, “ let us sit 
down ; and do you, Margery, answer to what I have 
said.” “ Blessed Virgin ! ” said Margery, “ what does 
your reverence mean ? what do you suspect ? ” “I sus- 
pect,” said he, “ that Edmund is not the son of Andrew 
your husband.” “Lord bless me ! ” said she, “ what is it 
you do suspect ? ” “ Do not evade my question, woman ! 

I am come here by authority to examine you upon this 
point.” The woman trembled in every joint ; “would to 
heaven 1 ” said she, “ that Andrew was at home I ” “ It 
is much better as it is,” said Oswald, “you are the 
person we are to examine.” “ Oh, father,” said she, “ do 
you think that I — that I — that I am to blame in this 
matter 1 What have I done 1 ” “ Do you, sir,” said he, 
“ ask your own questions ? ” TJpon this, Edmund threw 
himself at her feet, and embraced her knees. “ Oh, my 
mother 1 ” said he, “ for as such my heart owns you, tell 
me, for the love of heaven I tell me who was my father ? ” 
“ Gracious heaven ! ” said ‘ she, “ what will become of 
me?” “Woman,” said Oswald, “confess the truth, or 
you shall be compelled to do it ; by whom had you this 
youth 1 ” “ Who, 1 1 ” said she, “ I had him ! No, 
father, I am not guilty of the black crime of adultery ; 
God ho knows my innocence ; I am not worthy to be the 


THE OLD EHQLISH EAEOH. 


73 


mother of such a sweet youth as that is,” “ You are not 
his mother then, nor Andrew his father ? ” “ Oh, what 

shall I do ? ” said Margery, “ Andrew will be the death 
of me ! ” “ JSTo, he shall not,” said Edmund ; “ you shaii 

be protected and rewarded for the discovery,” “ Goody,” 
said Oswald, *• confess the whole truth, and I will pro- 
tect you from harm and from blame ; you may be the 
means of making Edmund’s fortune, in which case he 
will certainly provide for you ; on the other hand, by an 
obstinate silence, you will deprive yourself of all advan- 
tages you might receive from the discovery ; and, besides, 
you will soon be examined in a different manner, and be 
obliged to confess all you know, and nobody will thank 
you for it,” “ Ah ! ” said she, ” but Andrew beat me the 

last time I spoke to Edmund ; and told me he would' 

break every bone in my skin if ever I spoke to him. 

again,” “ He knows it, then ? ” said Oswald, He 

knows it ! Lord help you, it was all his own doing,’” 
“ Tell us, then,” said Oswald ; “ for Andrew shall never 
know it, till it is out of his power to punish you.” “ ’Tis 
a long story,” said she, “^and cannot be told in a few 
words,” “ It will never be told at this rate,” said he ^ 
“ sit down and begin it instantly.” “ My fate depends 
upon your words,” said Edmund ; “ my soul is im- 
patient of the suspense ! If ever you loved me and 
cherished me, show it now, and tell while I have breath 
to ask it.” He sat in extreme agitation of mind ; his 
words and actions were equally expressive of his inward 
emotions. “I will,” said she; “but I must try to re- 
collect all the circumstances. You must know, young 
man, that you are just one-and-twenty years of age.’^ 


74 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


■“ On wlmt 'day was he born ? ” said Oswald. “ The day 
before yesterday,” said she, “ the 21st of September.” “ \ 
remarkable era,” said he. “ ’Tis so, indeed^’ said 
Edmund : ‘‘ Oh ! that night ! that apartment ! ” ^ Be 

silent,” said Oswald ; “ and do you, Margery, begin your 
story.” 

“I will,” said she. “Just one-and-twenty years ago, 
on that very day, I lost my first-born son ; I got a hurt 
by over-reaching myself, when I was near my time, and 
so the poor child died. And so as I was sitting all alone, 
and very melancholy, Andrew came home from work ; 

* See, Margery,’ said he, ‘ I have brought you a child 
instead of that you have lost.’ So he gave me a bundle, ‘ 
as I thought ; but sure enough it was a child ; a poor 
helpless babe just born, and only rolled up in a fine 
handkerchief, and over that a rich velvet cloak trimmed 
with gold lace. ‘ And where did you find this ? ’ said I. 
‘Upon the foot-bridge,’ said he, ‘just below the clay- 
field. This child,’ said he, ‘ belongs to some great folk, 
and perhaps it may be inquired after one day, and may 
make our fortunes ; take care of it/ said he, ‘ and bring 
it up as if it was your own.’ The poor infant was cold, 
and it cried, and looked up at me so pitifully that I 
loved it ; besides, my milk was troublesome to me, and I 
was glad to be eased of it ; so I gave it the breast ; and 
from that hour I loved the child, as if it were mj^ own : 
und so I do still, if I dared to own it.” “ And this is all 
you know of Edmund’s birth? ” said Oswald. “ No, not 
fill,” said Margery ; “ but pray look out and see whether 
Andrew is coming, for I am all over in a twitter.” “ He 
is not,” said Oswald ; “ go on, I beseech you ! ” “ This 


V 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 75 

happened,” said she, “ as I told you, on the 21st. On the 
morrow my Andrew went out early to work, along with 
one Robin Rouse, our neighbour ; they had not been gone 
above an hour, when they both came back seenniigly 
very much frightened. Says Andrew, ' G-o you, Robin, 
and borrow a pick-axe at neighbour Styles’s.’ • What is 
the matter now ? ’ said I. ‘ Matter enough,’ quoth 
Andrew, ‘ we may come to be hanged, perhaps, as many 
an innocent man has before us.’ ‘ Tell me what is the 
matter,’ said I. ‘ I will,’ said he ; ‘ but if ever you open 
your mouth about it, woe be to you.’ ‘ I never will,’ said 
I ; but he made me swear by all the blessed saints in the 
calendar ; and then he told me, that as Robin and he 
were going over the foot-bridge, where they found the 
child the evening before, they saw something floating 
upon the water ; so they followed it, till it struck against 
a stake, and found it to be the dead body of a woman. 
^As sure you are alive, Madge,’ said he, ‘this was the 
mother of the child I brought home.’ ” “ Merciful God ! ” 

said Edmund, “ am I the child of that hapless mother ? ” 

“ Be composed,” said Oswald : “ proceed, good woman, 
the time is precious.” “And so,” “continued she, 

“ Andrew told me they dragged the body out of the 
river ; and it was richly dressed, and must be ^mebody 
of consequence. ‘ I suppose,’ said he, *' when the poor 
lady had taken care of her child, she went to And some 
help ; and the night being dark, her foot slipped, and 
she fell into the river, and was drowned.’ 

“ ‘ Lord have mercy,’ said Robin, ‘ Avhat shall we do - 
with the dead body? We may be taken up for the 
murder ; what had we to do to meddle with it ? ’ ‘ Ay, , 


76 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


but,’ says Andrew, ‘ we must have something to do with 
it now : and our wisest way is to bury it.’ Robin was 
sadly frightened ; but at last they agreed to carry it 
into the wood and bury it there ; so they came home for 
a pick-axe and shovel. ‘ Well,’ said I, ‘ Andrew, but will 
you bury all the rich clothes you speak of 2 ’ ‘ Why,’ 

said he, ‘ it would be both a sin and a shame to strip the 
dead.’ ‘ So it would,’ said I ; ‘ but I will give you a sheet 
to wrap the body in, and you may take off her upper 
garments, and anything of value, but not strip her to 
the skin for anything.’ ‘ Well said, wench,’ said he, ‘ I 
will do as you say.’ So I fetched a sheet ; and by that 
time Robin was come back, and away they went together. 

“ They did not come back again till noon, and then 
they sat down and ate a morsel together. Says Andrew, 
‘ Now we may sit down and eat in peace.’ ‘ Ay,’ says 
Robin, ‘and sleep in peace too, for we have done no 
harm.’ ‘ No, to be sure,’ said I ; ‘ but I am much con- 
cerned that the poor lady had not Christian burial.’ 
‘ Never trouble thyself about that,’ said Andrew : ‘ we 
have done the best we could for her ; but let us see what 
we have got in our bags ; we must divide them.’ So they 
opened their bags, and took out a fine gown and a pair of 
rich shoes ; but, besides these, there was a fine necklace, 
with a golden locket, and a pair of ear-rings. Says 
Andrew, and winked at me, ‘ I will have these, and you 
may take the rest.’ Robin said he was satisfied, and so 
he went his way. When he was gone, ‘ Here, you fool,’ 
says Andrew, ‘ take these, and keep them as safe as the 
bud of your eye ; if ever young master is found these 
will make our fortune.’ ” “ And have you them now ? ” 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 77 

said Oswald. ” Yes, that I have,” answered she ; Andi»ew 
would have sold them long ago, but I always put him off 
it.” “ Heaven be praised ! ” said Edmund. “ Hush ! ” 
said Oswald, “ let us not lose time : proceed Groody.” 

Nay,” said Margery,” “ I have not much more to say. 
We looked every day to hear some inquiries after the 
child, but nothing passed ; nobody was missing.” “ Did 
nobody of note die about that time ? ” said Oswald. 
“ Why, yes,” said Margery, “ the widow Lady Lovel died 
that same week ; by the same token, Andrew went to the 
funeral, and brought home a scutcheon, which I keep 
unto this day.” “ Very well, go on.” “ My husband 
behaved well enough to the boy, till such time as he had 
two or three children of his own, and then he began to 
grumble, and say it was hard to maintain other folk’s 
children w^hen he found it hard enough to keep his own. 
I loved the boy quite as well as my own ; often and 
often have I pacified Andrew, and made him to hope that 
he should one day or other be paid for his trouble ; but 
at last he grew out of patience, and gave over all hopes 
■of that kind. 

“ As Edmund grew up, he grew sickly and tender, and 
could not bear hard labour ; and that Avas another reason 
why my husband could ncft bear with him. ‘ If,’ quoth 
he, ‘ the boy could earn his living, I did not care ; but I 
must bear all the expense.’ There came an old pilgrim 
into our parts ; he was a scholar, and had been a soldier, 
and he taught Edmund to read ; then he told him 
histories of wars, and knights, and lords, and great men ; 
and Edmund took such delight in hearing him, that he 
would not take to anything else. 


78 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


“ To be sure, Edwin was a pleasant companion be 
would tell old stories, and sing- old songs, that one could 
have sat all night to hear him ; but, as I was saying, 
Edmund grew more and more fond of reading, and less 
of work ; however, he would run of errands, and do many 
handy turns for the neighbours ; and he was so courteous 
a lad that peopl# took notice of him. Andrew once 
caught him alone, reading, and then told him, that if he 
did not find some way to earn his bread, he would turn 
him out of doors in a very short time, and so he would 
have done, sure enough, if my Lord Fitz-Owen had not 
taken him into his service just in the nick of time.” 

“ Very well. Goody,” said Oswald ; “ you have told 
your story very well ; I am glad, for Edmund’s sake, 
that you can do it so properly ; but now, can you keep a 
secret?” “Why, an’t please your reverence, I think I 
^ have showed you that I can.” “ But can you keep it 
from your husband ? ” “ Ay,” said she, “ surely I can, 
for I dare not tell it him.” “ That is a good security,’^ 
said he, “ but I must have a better ; you must swear 
upon this book not to disclose anything that has passed 
between us three, till we desire you to do it. Be assured 
you will soon be called upon for this purpose. Edmund’s 
birth is near to the discovery ; he is the son of parents 
of high degree ; and it will be in his power to make your 
fortune when he takes possession of his own.” 

“ Holy Virgin ! what is it you tell me ? How you 
rejoice me to hear, that what I have so long prayed for 
will come to pass,” She took the oath required, saying 
after Oswald. “ Now,” said he, “ go and fetch the tokens 
you have mentioned.” 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


7 ^ 


When she was gone, Edmund’s passions, long sup- 
pressed, broke out in tears and exclamations — he kneeled 
down, and with his hands clasped together, returned 
thanks to heaven for the discovery. Oswald begged him 
to be composed, lest Margery should perceive his agita- 
tion, and misconstrue the cause. She soon returned with 
the necklace and ear-rings ; they were pearls of great 
value ; and the necklace had a locket, on which the 
cipher of Lovel was engraved. “ This,” said Oswald, “ is 
indeed a proof of consequence ; keep it, sir, for it belongs 
to you.” “ Must he take it away ? ” said she. Cer- 
tainly,” returned Oswald ; “ we can do nothing without 
it ; hut if Andrew should ask for it, you must put him 
off for the present, and hereafter he will find his account 
in it.” Margery consented reluctantly to part with the 
jewels ; and, after some further conversation, they took 
leave of her. Edmund embraced her affectionately. “ I 
thank you with my whole heart.” said he, “ for all your 
goodness to me. Though, I confess, I never felt much 
regard for your husband, yet for you I had always the 
tender affection of a son. You will, I trust, give your 
evidence in my behalf when called upon ; and I hope it 
will one day be in my power to reward your kindness ; 
in that case I will own you as my foster-mother, and you 
shall always be treated as such.” Margery wept. The 
Lord grant it,” said she ; “ and I pray Him to have you 
in His holy keeping. Farewell, my dear child ! ” Oswald 
desired them, to separate, for fear of intruvsion ; and they 
returned to the castle. Margery stood at the door of 
her cottage, looking every way to see if the coast was 
clear. 


80 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


“Now, sir,” said Oswald, “I congratulate you as the 
son of Lord and Lady Lovel ; the proofs are strong and 
indisputable.” “ To us they are so,” said Edmund ; “ but 
how shall we make them so to others ? and what are we 
to think of the funeral of Lady Lovel ? ” “ As of a 

fiction,” said Oswald ; “ the work of the present lord, to 
secure his title and fortune.” “ And what means can we 
use to dispossess him ? ” said Edmund : “ he is not a man 
for a poor youth like me to contend with.” “ Doubt 
not,” said Oswald, “ but Heaven, who has evidently con- 
ducted you by the hand thus far, will complete its own 
work ; for my part, I can only wonder and adore I ” 
“ Grive me your advice then,” said Edmund, for Heaven 
assists us by natural means.” 

“ It seems to me,” said Oswald, “ that your first step 
must be to make a friend of some great man, of conse- 
quence enough to espouse your cause, and to get this 
affair examined into by authority.” Edmund started and 
crossed himself. He suddenly exclaimed, “ A friend ! 
yes, I have a friend 1 a powerful one too ; one sent by 
Heaven to be my protector, but whom I have too long 
neglected.” “ Who can that be ? ” said Oswald. “ Who 
should it be,” said Edmund, “ but that good Sir Philip 
Barclay, the chosen friend of him whom I shall from 
henceforward call my father.” “ ’Tis true, indeed,” said 
Oswala ; “ and this is a fresh proof of what I before 
observed, that Heaven assists you, and will complete its 
own work.” “ I think so myself,” said Edmund, “ and 
rely upon its direction. I have already determined on 
my future conduct, which I will communicate to you. 
My first step shall be to leave the castle. My lord has 


THE OLD E^fGLISH BAEON. 


8] 


this day given me a horse, upon which I propose to 
out this very night, without the knowledge of any of the 
family. I will go to Sir Philip Harclay ; I will throw 
myself at his feet, relate my strange story, and implore 
his protection : with him I will consult on the most 
proper way of bringing this murderer to public justice, 
and I will be guided by his advice and direction in every- 
thing.” “Nothing can be better,” said Oswald, “than 
what you propose : but give me leave to offer an addition 
to your scheme. You shall set off in the dead of the 
night, as you intend ; Joseph and I will favour your 
departure in such a manner as to throw a mystery over 
the circumstances of it. Your disappearance at such 
time from the haunted apartment will terrify and con- 
found all the family ; they will puzzle themselves in 
vain to account for it, and they will be afraid to pry into 
the secrets of that place.” 

“ You say well, and I approve your addition,” replied 
Edmund. “ Suppose, likewise, there was a letter written 
in a mysterious manner, and dropped in my lord’s way 
or sent to him aft#rwards, it would forward our design, 
and frighten them away from that apartment.” “That 
shall be my care,” said Oswald; “and I will warrant 
you that they will not find themselves disposed to in- 
habit it presently.” “But how shall I leave my dear 
friend Mr. William without a word of notice of this 
separation ? ” “I have thought of that, too,” said 
Oswald ; “ and I will so manage as ■to acquaint him with 
it, in such a manner as he shall think out of the common 
course of things, and which shall make him wonder and 
be silent.” “ IIow will you do that? ” said Edmund. “ I 


82 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


will tell you hereafter,” said Oswald ; “ for here comes 
old Joseph to meet us.” 

He came, indeed, as fast as his age would permit him. 
As soon as he was within hearing, he asked them, 
“What news?” They related all that had passed at 
Twyford’s cottage. He heard them with the greatest 
eagerness of attention ; and as soon as they came to the 
great event — “ I knew it ! I knew it ! ” exclaimed 
Joseph ; “ I was sure it would prove so I Thank God for 
it ! But I will be the first to acknowledge my young 
lord, and I will live and die his faithful servant.” Here 
Joseph attempted to kneel to him, but Edmund prevented 
him with a warm embrace. “ My friend, my dear 
friend 1 ” said he, “I cannot suffer a man of your age ta 
kneel to me ; are you not one of my best and truest 
friends ? I will ever remember your disinterested affec- 
tion for me ; and if Heaven restores me to my rights, it 
shall be one of my first cares to render your old age easy 
and happy.” Joseph wept over him, and it was somo 
time before he could utter a word. 

Oswald gave them both time to recover their emotion, 
by acquainting Joseph with Edmund’s scheme for his 
departure. J oseph wiped his eyes and spoke : “ I have- 
thought,” said he, “ of something that will be both 
agreeable and useful to my dear master. John Wyatt, 
Sir Philip Harclay’s servant, is now upon a visit at his 
father’s. I have heard that he goes home soon : now he 
would be both a guide and companion on the way.” 
“ This is, indeed, a happy circumstance,” said Edmund ; 
“ but how shall we know certainly the time of his de- 
parture ? ” “ "Why, sir, I will go to him, and inquire, and 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


m 


bring you word directly.” “ Do so,” said Edmund, “and 
you will oblige me greatly.” “But, sir,” said Oswald, 
“I think it would be best not to let John Wyatt know 
who is to be his companion : only let Joseph tell him 
that a gentleman is going to visit his master ; and, if 
possible, prevail upon him to set out this night.” “ Do so, 
my good friend,” said Edmund ; “and tell him further, 
that this person has business of great consequence to 
communicate to his master, and cannot delay his journey 
on any account.” “ I will do this, you may depend,” 
said Joseph, “ and acquaint you with my success as soon 
as possible ; but, sir, you must not go without a guide at 
any rate,” “ I trust I shall not,” said Edmund, “ though 
I go alone ; he that has received such a call as I have, 
can want no other, nor fear any danger.” 

They conversed on these points till they drew near the 
castle, when Joseph left them to go on his errand, and 
Edmund attended his lord at dinner. The baron observed 
that he was silent and reserved ; the conversation 
languished on both sides. As soon as dinner was ended, 
Edmund asked permission to go up into his own apart- 
ment ; when he packed up some necessaries, and made a 
hasty preparation for his departure. 

Afterwards he walked into the garden, revolving in 
his mind the peculiarity of his situation and the un- 
certainty of his future prospects : lost in thought, he 
walked to and fro in a covered walk, with his arms 
crossed, and his eyes cast down, without perceiving that 
he was observed by two females, who stood at a distance 
watching his motions. It was Lady Emma and her 
attendant who were thus engaged. At length he lifted 


84 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


up liis eyes and saw them ; he stood still, and was 
irresolute whether to advance or retire. They approached 
him, and as they drew near, fair Emma spoke : “ You 
have been so wrapt in meditation, Edmund, that I am 
apprehensive of some new vexation that I am yet a 
stranger to. Would it were in my power to lessen those 
you have already ! but tell me if I guess truly ? ” He 
stood still irresolute ; he answered with hesitation : 
“ Oh, lady — I am — I am grieved, I am concerned, to be 
the cause of so much confusion in this noble family, to 
which I am so much indebted. I see no way to lessen 
these evils but to remove the cause of them.” “ Meaning 
yourself ? ” said she. “ Certainly, madam ; and I was 
meditating on my departure.” “But,” said she, “by 
your departure you will not remove the cause.” “ How 
so ? ” madam. “ Because you are not the cause, but 
those you will leave behind you,” said Lady Emma. 
“ How can you affect this ignorance, Edmund ? You 
know well enough it is that odious Wenlock, your enemy 
and my aversion, that has caused all this mischief among 
us, and will much more, if he is not removed.” “ This, 
madam, is a subject that it becomes me to be silent upon. 
Mr. Wenlock is your kinsman, he is not my friend ; and 
for that reason I ought not to speak against him, nor 
you to hear it from me. If he has used me ill, I am 
recompensed by the generous treatment of my lord your 
father, who is all that is great and good ; he has allowed 
me to justify myself to him, and he has restored me to 
his good opinion, which I prize among the best gifts of 
Heaven. Your amiable brother William thinks well of 
me, and his esteem is infinitely dear to me ; and you, 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


85 


excellent ,lady, permit me to hope that you honour me 
with your good opinion. Are not these ample amends 
for the ill-will Mr. Wenlock bears me ? ” “ My opinion 
of you, Edmund,” said she, “is fixed and settled ; it is 
not founded upon events of yesterday, but upon long 
knowledge and experience ; upon your whole conduct 
and character.” “ You honour me, lady ! Continue to 
think well of me ; it will excite me to deserve it. When 
I am far distant from this place, the remembrance of 
your goodness will be a cordial to my heart.” “ But why 
will you leave us, Edmund ? Stay and defeat the designs 
of your enemy ; you shall have my wishes and assist- 
ance.” “ Pardon me, madam, that is among the things I 
cannot do, even if it were in my power, which it is not. 
Mr. Wenlock loves you, lady ; and if he is so unhappy as 
to be your aversion, that is a punishment severe enough. 
For the rest, I may be unfortunate by the wickedness of 
others, but if I am unworthy, it must be by my own 
fault.” “ So, then, you think it is an unworthy action to 
oppose Mr. Wenlock ? Very well, sir. Then I suppose 
you wish him success ; you wish that I may be married 
to him 1 ” “ I, madam ! ” said Edmund, confused ; “ what 

am I, that I should give my opinion on an affair of so 
much consequence? You distress me by the question. 
May you be happy 1 may you enjoy your own wishes ! ” 
He sighed, he turned away. She called him back ; he 
trembled, and kept silence. 

She seemed to enjoy his confusion ; she was cruel 
enough to repeat the question. “ Tell me, Edmund, and 
truly, do you wish to see me give my hand to Wenlock ? 
I insist upon your answer.” All on a sudden he recovered 


86 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


both his voice and courage ; he stepped forward, his 
person erect, his countenance assured, his voice resolute 
and intrepid, “ Since Lady Emma insists upon my 
answer, since she avows a dislike to Wenlock, since she 
condescends to ask my opinion, I will tell her my 
thoughts, my wishes.” The fair Emma now trembled in 
her turn ; she blushed, looked down, and was ashamed to 
have spoken so freely. Edmund went on : “ My most 
ardent wishes are, that the fair Emma may reserve her 
heart and hand till a certain person, a friend of mine, is 
at liberty to solicit them ; whose utmost ambition is first 
to deserve, and then obtain them.” “ Your friend, sir ! ” 
said Lady Emma ; her brow clouded, her eye disdainful. 
Edmund proceeded : “ My friend is so particularly cir- 
cumstanced, that he cannot at present, with pro- 
priety, ask for Lady Emma’s favour ; but as soon as he 
has gained a cause that is yet in suspense, he will openly 
declare his pretensions, and, if he is unsuccessful, he will 
then condemn himself to eternal silence.” Lady Emma 
knew not what to think of this declaration ; she hoped, 
she feared, she meditated ; but her attention was too 
strongly excited to be satisfied without some gratification. 
After a pause, she pursued the subject ; “ And this friend 
of yours, sir, of what degree and fortune is he ? ” Edmund 
smiled ; but commanding his emotion, he replied, “ His 
birth is noble, his degree and fortune uncertain.” Her 
countenance fell ; she sighed ; he proceeded : “ It is 
utterly impossible,” said he, “ for any man of inferior 
degree to aspire to Lady Emma’s favour ; her noble birth, 
the dignity of her beauty and virtues, must awe and keep 
at their proper distance all men of inferior degree and 


THE OLD ENGLISH BAEON, 


87 


merit. They may admire, they may revere ; but they must 
not presume to approach too near, lest their presumption 
shouldT meet with its punishment.” “Well, sir,” said 
she, suddenly ; “ and so this friend of yours has com- 
missioned you to speak in his behalf ? ’* “He has, 
madam.” “ Then I must tell you, that I think his 
assurance is very great, and yours not much less.” “ I 
um sorry for that, madam.” “Tell him that I shall 
reserve my heart and hand for the man to whom my 
father shall bid me give them.” “ Very well, lady. I 
am certain my lord loves you too well to dispose of them 
against your inclination.” “ How do you know that, 
sir ? But tell him (that the man that hopes for my 
favour must apply to my lord for his.” “ This is my 
friend’s intention, his resolution, I should say, as soon as 
he can do it with propriety ; and I accept your permission 
for him to do so.” “ My permission, did you say ? I am 
astonished at your assurance ! Tell me no more of your 
friend. But perhaps you are pleading for Wenlock all 
this time. It is all one to me ; only, say no more.” 
“ Are you offended with me, madam ? ” “ No matter, 

sir.” “ Yes, it is.” “ I am surprised at you, Edmund.” 
“ I am surprised at my own temerity ; but forgive me.” 
“ It does not signify ; goodbye t’ye, sir.” “Don’t leave 
me in anger, madam ; I cannot bear that. Perhaps I 
may not see you again for a long time.” He looked 
afflicted ; she turned back. “ I do forgive you, Edmund ! 
I was concerned for you ; but, it seems, you are more 
concerned for everybody than for yourself.” She sighed. 
“ Farewell ! ” said she. Edmund gazed on her with 
tenderness ; he approached her ; he just touched ^her 


88 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


hand ; his heart was rising to his lips, but he recollected 
his situation ; he checked himself immediately, he retired 
back, he sighed deeply, bowed low, and hastily quitted 

her. 

The lady turning into another walk, he reached the 
house first, and went up again to his chamber : he threw 
himself upon his knees ; prayed for a thousand blessings 
upon every one of the family of his benefactor, and in- 
voluntarily wept at mentioning the name of the charming 
Emma, whom he was about to leave abruptly, and per- 
haps for ever. He then endeavoured to compose himself, 
and once more attended the baron ; wished him a good 
liight, and withdrew to his chamber, till he was called 
upon to go again to the haunted apartment. 

He came down equipped for his journey, and went 
hastily for fear of observation ; he paid his customary 
devotions, and soon after Oswald tapped at the door. 
They conferred together upon the interesting subject that 
engrossed their attention, until Joseph came to them, 
who brought the rest of Edmund’s baggage, and some 
refreshment for him before he set out. Edmund promised 
to give them the earliest information of his situation and 
success. At the hour of twelve they heard the same 
groans as the night before in the lower apartment ; but, 
being somewhat familiarised to it, they were not so 
strongly affected. Oswald crossed himself, and prayed 
for the departed soul ; he also prayed for Edmund, and 
recommended him to the Divine protection ; he then 
arose, and embraced that young man, who also took a 
tender leave of his friend Joseph. They then went, with 
silence and caution, through a long gallery ; they de- 


THE OLD ^JNOLIfeH BARON. 


89 


-scended the stairs in the same manner ; they crossed the 
hall in profound silence, and hardly dared to breathe, 
lest they should be overheard ; they found some difficulty 
in opening one of the folding-doors, which at last they 
accomplished ; they were again in jeopardy at the out- 
ward gate ; at length they conveyed him safely into the 
stables, there they again embraced him, and prayed for 
his prosperity. 

He then mounted his horse, and set forward to Wj^att’s 
cottage ; he hallooed at the door, and was answered from 
within ; in a few minutes John came out to him. “ What, 
is it you. Master Edmund ? ” “ Hush ! ” said he ; not a 

word of who I am ; I go upon private business, and 
would not wish to be known.” “ If you will go forward, 
sir, I will soon overtake you.” He did so, and they pur- 
sued their journey to the north ; in the meantime, 
Oswald and Joseph returned in silence into the house : 
they retired to the?^ respective apartments without 
hearing or being heard by any one. 

About the dawn of day, Oswald intended to lay his 
packets in the way of those to whom they were ad- 
dressed ; after much contrivance he determined to take 
a bold step, and, if he were discovered, to frame some 
excuse. Encouraged by his late success, he went on tip- 
toe into Master William’s chamber, placed a letter upon 
his pillow, and withdrew unheard. Exulting in his 
heart, he attempted the baron’s apartment, but found it 
fastened within ; finding the scheme frustrated, he 
waited till the hour the baron was expected to breakfast, 
and laid the letter and the key of the haunted apartment 
upon the table. Soon after, he saw the baron enter the 


90 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


breakfast-rooro ; be got out of sight, but stayed within 
call, preparing himself for a summons. The baron sat 
down to breakfast ; he saw a letter directed to himself ; 
he opened it, and, to his great surprise, read as follows ; 

“ The Guardian of the Haunted Apartment, to Baron 
Fitz-Owen. — To thee I remit the key of my charge, until 
the right owner shall come, who will both discover and 
avenge my wrongs ; then woe be to the guilty ! But let 
the innocent rest in peace. In the meantime, let none 
presume to explore the secrets of my apartment, lest they 
suffer for their temerity.” 

The baron was struck with amazement at the letter ; 
he took up the key, examined it, then laid it down, and 
took up the letter ; he was in such confusion of thought, 
he knew not what to do or say for several minutes : __ 
at length he called his servants about him. The first 
question he askftd was, “ Where is Edmund ? ” They 
could not tell. “ Has he been called ? ” “ Yes, my lord, 

but nobody answered, and the key was not in the door.” 

“ WTiere is Joseph ? ” “ Gone into the stables.” “ Where 
is Father Oswald?” “In his study.” “Seek him, and 
desire him to come hither.” By the time the baron had 
read the letter over again, he came. 

He had been framing a steady countenance to answer 
to all interrogatories. As he came in, he attentively 
observed the baron, whose features were in strong 
agitation. As soon as he saw Oswald, he spoke as one 
out of breath : “ Take that key, and read this letter ! ” 
He did so, shrugged up his shoulders, and remained 
silent. “Father,” said my lord, “what think you of 
this letter ? ” “ It is a very surprising one. The contents 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


91 


are alarming : where is Edmund ? ” “ I do not know.” 

“ Has nobody seen him ? ” “ Not that I know of.” “ Call 

my sons, my kinsmen, my servants.” The servants came 
in. “ Have any of you seen or heard of Edmund ? ” 
“ No,” was the answer. “ Father, step up-stairs to my 
sons and kinsmen, and desire them to come down im- 
mediately. 

Oswald withdrew ; and went, first, to Master William’s 
chamber. “ My dear sir, you must come to my lord now 
directly ; he has something extraordinary to communi- 
cate to you.” “ And so have I, father ; see what I have 
found upon my pillow ! ” “ Pray, sir, read it to me 

before you show it to anybody ; my lord is alarmed too 
much already, and wants nothing to increase his con- 
sternation.” William read this letter, while Oswald 
looked as if he was an utter stranger to the contents^ 
which were these : 

“’Whatever may be heard or seen, let the seal of friend- 
ship be upon thy lips. The peasant Edmund is no more ; 
but there still lives a man who hopes to acknowledge, • 
and repay, the Lord Fitz-Owen’s generous care and pro- 
tection ; to return his beloved William’s vowed affection, 
and to claim his friendship on terms of equality.” 

“ What,” said William, “can this mean ? ” “ It is not 

easy to say,” replied Oswald. “ Can you tell what is the 
cause of this alarm ? ” “I can tell you nothing, but that 
my lord desires to see you directly ; pray make haste 
down : I must go up to your brothers and kinsmen : no- 
body knows what to think or believe.” 

Master William went down-stairs, and father Oswald 
went to the malcontents : as soon as he entered the 


92 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


outward door of their apartment, Mr. Wenlock called'out, 

Here comes the friend ; now for some new proposal I 
“ Gentlemen,” said Oswald, “ my lord desires your com- 
pany immediately in the breakfast-parlour.” “ What ! to 
meet your favourite Edmund, I suppose ? ” said Mr. Wen- 
lock. ^ No, sir.” “ What then is the matter ? ” said Sir 
Robert. “Something' very extraordinary has happened, 
gentlemen : Edmund is not to be found ; he disappeared 
from the haunted apartment, the key of which was con- 
veyed to my lord in a strange manner, with a letter from 
an unknown hand : my lord is both surprised and con- 
cerne^d, and wishes to have your opinion and advtce on the 
occasion.” “ Tell him,” said Sir Robert, “ we will wait 
upon him immediately.” 

As Oswald went away, he heard Wenlock say, “ So 
Edmund is gone ; it is no matter how, or whither.” 
Another said, “ I hope the ghost has taken him cut of the 
wa •. ’ The rest laughed at the conceit, as they followed 
0 -wald down-stairs. They found the baron and his son 
William commenting upon the key and the letter. My 
lord gave them to Sir Robert, who looked on them with 
marks of surprise and confusion. The baron addressed 
him : “ Is not this a very strange affair ? Son Robert, lay 
aside your ill humours, and behave to your father with 
the respect and affection his tenderness deserves from 
you, and give me your advice and opinion on this alarm- 
ing subject.” “ My lord,” said Sir Robert, “ I am as 
much confounded as yourself ; I can give no advice ; let 
my cousins see the letter— let us have their opinion ! ” 
They read in turn ; they were equally surprised : but when 
it came into Wenlock’s hand, he paused and meditated 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


93 


some minutes : at length, “ I am indeed surprised, and 
still more concerned, to see my lord and uncle the dupe of 
an artful contrivance ; and if he will permit me, I shall 
endeavour to unriddle it, to the confusion of all who are 
concerned in it.” “ Do so, Dick,” said my lord, “ and you 
shall have my thanks for it.” “ This letter,” said he, “ I 
imagine to be the contrivance of Edmund, or some in- 
genious friend of his, to conceal some designs they have 
against the peace of this family, which has been too often 
disturbed upon that rascal’s account.” “ But what end 
could be proposed by it ? ” said the baron. “ Why, one 
part of the scheme is to cover Edmund’s depature, that is 
clear enough ; for the rest, we can only guess at it. Per- 
haps he may be concealed somewhere in that apartment, 
from whence he may rush out in the night, and either 
rob or murder us ; or, at least, alarm and terrify the 
family.” The baron smiled. “ You shoot beyond the 
mark, sir, and overshoot yourself, as you have done before 
now. You show only your inveteracy against that poor 
lad, whom you cannot mention with temper : to what 
purpose should he shut himself up there to be starved ? ” 
“ Starved ? Xo, no ! he has friends in this house (looking 
at Oswald) who will not suffer him to want anything : 
those who have always magnified his virtues, and ex- 
tenuated his faults, will lend a hand to help him in time 
of need, and perhaps to assist his ingenious contrivances.” 
Oswald shrugged up his shoulders, and remained silent. 
“ This is a strange fancy of yours, Dick.” said my lord : 
“ but I am willing to pursue it ; first, to discover what 
you drive at ; and, secondly, to satisfy all that are pre.sent 
of the truth or falsehood of it, that they may know what 


TIiS OLD ENGLISH BARON. 

value to set upon your sas^acity hereafter. Let us all go 
over that apartment together, and let Joseph be called to 
attend us thither.” Oswald offered to call him, but Wen- 
lock stopped him. “ No, father,” said he, “ you must stay 
with us ; we want your ghostly counsel and advice : 
Joseph shall have no private conference with you.” 

What mean you,” said Oswald, “ to insinuate to my lord 
against me, or Joseph ? But your ill-will spares nobody. 
It will one day be known who is the disturber of this 
peace of the family ; I wait for that time, and am silent.” 

Joseph came: when he was told whither they were 
going, he looked hard at Oswald. Wenlock observed 
them : “ Lead the way, father,” said he, “and Joseph shall 
follow us.” Oswald smiled : “ We will go Avhere Heaven 
jjermits us,” said he ; “ alas ! the wisdom of man can neither 
hasten nor retard its decrees.” 

They followed the father up-stairs, and went directly 
to the haunted apartment. The baron unlocked the 
door ; he bade Joseph open the shutters and admit the day- 
light, which had been excluded for many years. They 
went over the rooms above stairs, and then descended the 
staircase, and through the lower rooms in the same 
manner. However, they overlooked the closet, in which 
the fatal secret was concealed : the door was covered 
with tapestry, the same as the room, and united so well, 
that it seemed but one piece. Wenlock tauntingly desired 
Father Oswald to introduce them to the ghost. The father, 
in reply, asked them where they should find Edmund ? 
“Do yon think,” said he, “that he lies hidden in my 
pocket, or in Joseph’s ? ” “ ’Tis no matter,” answered he ; 
“thoughts are free.” “My opinion of you, sir,” said 


'ON. 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 

„ / 

Oswald, “ is not founded upon though.ts ; I judge C* 
by their actions ; a rule, I believe, it will not suit yotL. 
be tried by.” “ None of your insolent admo;ntions, 
father 1 ” returned Wenlock ; “ this is neither the time 
nor the place for them.” “ That is truer than you are 
aware of, sir ; I mean not to enter into the subject just 
now.” “ Be silent,” said my lord. “ I shall enter into 
this subject with you hereafter ; then look you be prepared 
for it I in the meantime do you, Dick Wenlock, answer to 
my questions. Do you think Edmund is concealed in 
this apartment 2 ” “ No, sir.” “ Do you think there is any 
mystery in it ? ” “ No, my lord.” “ Is it haunted, think 

you 2 ” “ No, I think not.” “ Should you be afraid to 
try 2 ” “ In what manner, my lord 2 ” “ Why, you have 

shown your wit upon the subject, and I mean to show 
your courage ; you, and Jack Markham, your confidant, 
shall sleep here three nights, as Edmund has done before.” 
“ Sir,” said Sir Robert, “ for what purpose ? I should be 
glad to understand why ? ” “I have my reasons, sir, as 
well as your kinsmen there. No reply, sirs ! I insist 
upon being obeyed in this point. Joseph, let the beds be 
well aired, and everything made agreeable to the gentle- 
men ; if there is any contrivance to impose upon me, they, 
1 1 am sure, will have pleasure in detecting it ; and, if not, 
I shall obtain my end in making these rooms habitable. 
Oswald, come with me ; and the rest may go where they 
list till dinner-time.” 

The baron went with Oswald into the parlour. “ Now, 
tell me, father,” said he, “ do you disapprove what I have 
done 2 ” “ Quite the contrary, my lord,” said he ; ‘I en- 
tirely approve it.” “ But you do not know all my reasons 


96 


OLD ENGLISH BAEON. 


for it. 1 e5tjfej-day, Edmund’s behaviour was different from 
what I ^ave ever seen it ; he is naturally frank and open. 

his ways, but he was then silent, thoughtful^ 
^sent ; he sighed deeply, and once I saw tears stand in 
his eyes ; now, I do suspect there is something uncommon 
in that apartment, that Edmund has discovered the 
secret, and, fearing to disclose it, he has fled away from 
the house. As to this letter, perhaps he may have written 
it to hint that there is more than he dares reveal. I 
tremble at the hints contained in it, though I shall appear 
to make light of it ; but I and mine are innocent, and if 
Heaven discloses the guilt of others, I ought to adore and 
submit to its decrees.” “ That is prudently and piously 
resolved, my lord ; let us do our duty, and leave events to 
Heaven,” “ But, father, I have a further view in obliging 
my kinsmen to sleep there ; if anything should appear to 
them, it is better that it should only be known to my own 
family ; if there is nothing in it, I shall put to the proof 
the courage and veracity of my two kinsmen, of whom I 
think very indifferently. I mean shortly to inquire into 
many things I have heard lately to their disadvantage 
and, if I find them guilty, they shall not escape with im- 
punity.” “ My lord,” said Oswald, “ you judge like your- 
self ; I wish you to make inquiry concerning them, and 
believe the result will be to their confusion, and your 
lordship will be enabled to re-establish the peace of your 
family.” 

During this conversation Oswald was upon his guard 
lest anything should escape that might create suspicion 
He withdrew as soon as he could with decency, and left 
the baron meditating what all these things should mean 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


97 


he feared ther^i was some misfortune impending over his 
nouse, though, he knew not from what cause. 

He dined with his children and kinsmen, and strove to 
appear cheerful ; but a gloom was perceivable through 
his deportment. Sir Robert was reserved and respectful ; 
Mr. William was silent and attentive ; the rest of the 
family dutifully assiduous to my lord ; only Wenlock and 
Markham were sullen and chagrined. The baron detained 
the young men the whole afternoon ; he strove to amuse 
and be amused : he showed the greatest alfection and 
paternal regard to his children, and endeavoured to con- 
ciliate their affections and engage their gratitude by kind- 
ness. Wenlock and Markham felt their courage abate as 
the night approached ; at the hour of nine, old Joseph 
came to conduct them to the haunted apartment ; they 
took leave of their kinsmen, and went upstairs with 
heavy hearts. 

They found the chamber set in order for them, and a. 
table spread with provision and good liquor to keep up 
their spirits. “It seems,” said Wenlock, “that your 
friend Edmund was obliged to you for his accommodations 
here.” “ Sir,” said Joseph, “ his accommodations were bad 
enough the first night, but afterwards they were bettered 
by my lord’s orders.” “ Owing to your officious cares. 
said Wenlock. “ I own it,” said Joseph, “ and I am not 
ashamed of it.” “ Are you not anxious to know what has 
become of him ? ” said Markham. “Xot at all, sir ; I trust 
he is in the best protection ; so good a young man as he is, 
is safe everywhere.” “You see, Cousin Jack,” said Weii- 
lock, “ how this villain has stole the hearts of my uncle’s 
servants ; I suppose this canting old fellow knows where 


98 


THE OLD ENGLISH BAKON. 


he is, if the truth were known.” “ Have you any further 
commands for me, gentlemen ? ” said the old man. “ No, 
not we.” “ Then I am ordered to attend my lord, when 
you have done with me.” “ Go, then, about your business.” 
Joseph went away, glad to be dismissed. 

“ What shall we do, Cousin Jack,” said Wenlock, “ to pass 
away the time ? It is plaguy dull sitting here.” “ Dull 
enough,” said Markham ; “ I think the best thing we can 
do is to go to bed, and to sleep it away.” “ Faith,” says 
Wenlock, “ I am in no disposition to sleep. Who would 
have thought the old man would have obliged us to 
spend the night here 1 ” “ Don’t say us, I beg of you ; it 

was all your doing,” replied Matkham. “ I did not intend 
he should have taken me at my word.” “ Then you should 
have spoken more cautiously. I have always been governed 
by you, like a fool as I am ; you play the braggart and I 
suffer for it ; but they begin to see through your fine-spun 
arts and contrivances, and I believe you will meet with 
your deserts one day or other.” “What now, do you 
mean to affront me, J ack 1 Know that some are born to 
plan, others to execute ; I am one of the former, thou of 

the latter. Know your friend, or ” “ Or whatf? ” 

replied Markham. “ Do you mean to threaten me ? If you 
do ! ” “ What then 1 ” said Wenlock. “ Why, then, I will 
try which of us two is the best man, sir ! ” Upon this 
Markham arose and put himself into a posture of defence. 
Wenlock, perceiving he was serious in his anger, began to 
sooth him ; he persuaded, he flattered, he promised great 
things, if he would be composed. Markham was sullen, 
uneasy, resentful ; whenever he spoke it was to upbraid 
Wenlock with his treachery and falsehood. Wenlock 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


99 


tried all his eloquence to get him into a good humour, but 
in vain ; he threatened to acquaint his uncle with all that 
he knew, and to exculpate himself at the other’s expense. 
Wenlock began to find his choler rise ; they were both 
almost choked with rage, and, at length, they both rose 
with a resolution to fight. 

As they stood with their fists clenched, on a sudden 
they were alarmed by a dismal groan from the room 
underneath. They stood like statues, petrified by fear, 
yet listening with trembling expectation. A second groan 
increased their consternation ; and soon after a third com- 
pleted it. They staggered to a seat, and sank down upon 
it, ready to faint ; presently, all the doors flew open, a 
pale glimmering light appeared at the door from the 
staircase, and a man in complete armour entered the room : 
he stood with one hand extended, pointing to the outward 
door ; they took the hint, and crawled away as fast as fear 
would let them ; they staggered along the gallery, and 
from thence to the baron’s apartment, where Wenlock 
sank down in a swoon, and Markham had just strength 
enough to knock at the door. 

The servant who slept in the outward room alarmed his 
lord : Markham cried out, “ For Heaven’s sake let us in ! ” 
Upon hearing his voice the door was opened, and Mark- 
ham approached his uncle in such an attitude of fear, as 
excited a degree of it in the baron. He pointed to AVen- 
lock, who was with some difficulty recovered from the 
fit he was fallen into. The servant was terrified — he i*ang 
the alarm-bell ; the servants came running from all parts 
of their lord’s apartments. The young gentlemen came 
likewise ; and presently all was confusion, and the terror 


100 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


was universal. Oswald, wlio guessed the business, was 
the only one that could question them. He asked several 
times, “ What is the matter ? ” Markham at last answered 
him : “ We have seen the ghost ! ” All regard to secrecy 
was now at an end ; the echo ran through the whole 
family, “ They have seen the ghost ! ” 

The baron desired Oswald to talk to the young men,, 
and endeavour to quiet the disturbance. He came for- 
ward ; he comforted some, he rebuked others ; he bade the 
servants retire into the outward room : the baron, with his 
sons and kinsmen, remained in the bedchamber. It is 
very unfortunate,” said Oswald, “ that this affair should 
be made so public ; surely these young men might have 
related what they had seen without alarming the whole 
family ; I am very much concerned upon my lord’s ac- 
count.” “ I thank you, father,” said the baron, “ but 
prudence was quite overthrown here : Wenlock was half 
dead, and Markham half distracted ; the family were 
alarmed without my being able to prevent it. But let us 
hear what these poor terrified creatures say.” Oswald 
demanded : “ What have you seen, gentlemen ? ” The 
ghost ! ” said Markham. “ In what form did it appear ? ” 
“ A man in armour.” “ Did it speak to you ? ” “ No.”^ 

“ What did it do to terrify you so much ? ” “ It stood at 

the farthest door, and pointed to the outward door, as if 
to have us leave the room ; we did not wait for a second 
notice, but came away as fast as we could.” “ Did it 
follow you ? ” “ No.” “ Then you need not have raised 

such a disturbance.” Wenlock lifted up his head and 
spoke : “ I believe, father, if you had been with us, you 
would not have stood upon ceremonies any more than we 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


101 


did. I wish, my lord would send you to parley with the 
ghost ; for, without doubt, you are better qualified than 
we.” “ My lord,” said Oswald, “ I will go thither, with 
your permission : I will see that everything is safe, and 
bring the key back to you : perhaps this may help to 
dispel the fears that have been raised ; at least, I will try 
to do it.” “ I thank you, father, for your good offices ; do 
as you please.” 

Oswald went into the outward room. “ I am going,” said 
he, “ to shut up the apartment ; the young gentlemen 
have been more frightened than they had occasion for ; I 
will try to account for it. Which of you will go with 
me ? ” They all drew back, except Joseph, who offered to 
bear him company. They went into the bedroom in the 
haunted apartment, and found everything quiet there. 
They put out the fire, extinguished the lights, locked the 
door, and brought away the key. As they returned : “ I 
thought how it would be,” said Joseph. “ Hush I not a 
word,” said Oswald ; “ you find we are suspected of some- 
thing, though they know not what. Wait till you are 
called upon, and then we will both speak to the purpose.” 
They carried the key to the baron. 

“ All is quiet in the apartment,” said Oswald, “ as we 
can testify.” “ Did you ask Joseph to go with you,” said 
the baron, “ or did he offer himself ? ” “ My lord, I asked 

if anybody would go with me, and they all declined it but 
he ; I thought proper to have a witness besides myself, 
for whatever might be seen or heard.” “Joseph was 
servant to the late Lord Lovel ; what kind of man was 
he ? ” “A very comely man, please your lordship.” 
“Should you know him if you were to see him?” “I 


102 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


cannot say, my lord.” “ Would you liave any objection to 
sleep a night in that apartment ? ” “I beg, I hope, I 
beseech your lordship not to command me to do it ! ” 
“ You are then afraid ; why did you offer yourself to go 
thither ? ” “ Because I was not so much frightened as the 

rest.” “ I wish you would lie a night there ; but I do not 
insist upon it.” “ My lord, I am a poor ignorant old man, 
not fit for such an undertaking ; beside, if I should see 
the ghost, and if it should be the person of my master, 
and if it should tell me anything, and bid me keep it 
secret, I should not dare to disclose it ; and then what 
service should I do your lordship 1 ” “ That is true, 

indeed,” said the baron. 

“ This speech,” said Sir Robert, “ is both a simple and 
an artful one : you see, however, that Joseph is not a man 
for us to depend upon : he regards the Lord Lovel, though 
dead, more than Lord Fitz-Owen living ; he calls him his 
master, and promises to keep his secrets. What say you, 
father ? Is the ghost your master, or your friend ? Are 
you under any obligation to keep his secrets ? ” “ Sir,” 

said Oswald, “ I answer as Joseph does ! I would sooner 
die than discover a secret revealed in such a manner.” “ I 
thought as much,” said Sir Robert ; “ there is a mystery in 
Father Oswald’s behaviour which I cannot comprehend.” 
“ Do not reflect upon the father,” said the baron ; “ I have 
no cause to complain of him ; perhaps the mystery may 
be too soon explained ; but let us not anticipate evils. 
Oswald and Joseph have spoken like good men ; I am 
satisfied with their answers ; let us, who are innocent, rest 
in peace, and let us endeavour to restore peace in the 
family ; and do you, father, assist us.” “ With my best 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


103 


services,” said Oswald. He called the servants in. “ Let 
nothing be mentioned out of doors,” said he, “ of what 
has lately passed within, especially in the east apartment ; 
the young gentlemen had not so much reason to be 
frightened as they apprehended ; a piece of furniture fell 
down in the rooms underneath, which made the noise that 
alarmed them so much ; but I can certify that all things 
in the rooms are in quiet, and there is nothing to fear. 
All of you attend me in the chapel in an hour ; do your 
duties, put your trust in Grod, and obey your lord, and you 
will find everything go right as it used to do.” 

They dispersed : the sun arose, the day came on, and 
everything went on in the usual course : but the servants 
were not so easily satisfied ; they whispered that some- 
thing was wrong, and expected the time that should set 
all right. The mind of the baron was employed in 
meditating upon these circumstances, that seemed to him 
the forerunners of some great events ; he sometimes 
thought of Edmund ; he sighed for his expulsion, and 
lamented the uncertainty of his fate ; but to his family 
he appeared easy and satisfied. 

From the time of Edmund’s departure, the fair Emma 
had many uneasy hours ; she wished to inquire after him, 
but feared to show any solicitude concerning him. Tha 
next day, when her brother William came into her apart- 
ment, she took courage to ask a question : “ Pray, brother, 
can you give any guess of what has become of Edmund ? ” 
“ No,” said he (with a sigh) ; “ why do you ask me ? 

“ Because, my dear William, I should think if anybody 
knew, it must be you ; and I thought he loved you too 
well to leave you in ignorance ; but don’t you think ha 


104 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


left the castle in a very strange manner ! ” “ I do, my 

dear ; there is a mystery in every circumstance of his 
departure ; nevertheless (I will trust you with a secret) 
he did not leave the castle without making a distinction 
in my favour.” “ I thought so,” said she : “ but you 
might tell me what you know about him.” “ Alas ! my 
dear Emma, I know nothing. When I saw him last he 
seemed a good deal affected, as if he were taking leave of 
me ; and I had a foreboding that we parted for a longer 
time than usual.” “ Ah ! so had I,” said she, “ when he 
parted from me in the garden.” “ What leave did he take 
of you, Emma ? ” She blushed, and hesitated to tell him 
all that passed between them ; but he begged, persuaded, 
and insisted ; and at length, under the strongest injunctions 
of secrecy, she told him all. He said, “ that Edmund’s 
behaviour on that occasion was as mysterious as the rest 
of his conduct ; but now you have revealed your secret, 
you have a light to know mine.” He then gave her the 
letter he found upon his pillow ; she read it with 
great emotion. “ St. Winifred assist me,” said she ; 

what can I think ? ‘ The peasant Edmund is no more, 

but there lives one,’ that is, to my thinking, Edmund 
lives, but is no peasant.” “ Gro on, my dear,” said William ; 

I like your explanation.” “ Nay, brother, I only guess ; 
but what think you ? ” “I believe we think alike in more 
than one respect, that he meant to recommend no other 
person than himself to your favour ; and if he were indeed 
of noble birth, I would prefer him to a prince for a 
husband to my Emma.” “ Bless me,” said she, “ do you 
think it possible that he should be of either birth or 
fortune ? ” “ It is hard to say what is possible ; we have 


THE OLD EJSGLISH BAEON. 


105 


proofs that the east apartment is haunted : it was there 
that Edmund was made acquainted with many secrets, I 
doubt not ; and perhaps his own fate may be involved in 
that of others. I am confident that what he saw and heard 
there was the cause of his departure. We must wait with 
patience the unravelling of this intricate affair. I believe 
I need not enjoin your secrecy as to what I have said : 
your heart will be my security.” “ What mean you^ 
brother ? ” “ Don’t affect ignorance, my dear ; you love 

Edmund, so do I : it is nothing to be ashamed of : it would 
have been strange, if a girl of your good sense had not 
distinguished a swan among a fiock of geese.” “ Dear 
William, don’t let a Avord of this escape you ; but you 
have taken a weight off my heart. You may depend that 
I will not dispose of my hand or heart till I know the end 
of this affair.” William smiled : “Keep them for Edmund’s- 
friend: I shall rejoice to see him in a situation to ask 
them.” “ Hush, my brother, not a word more : I. hear 
footsteps.” They were her eldest brother’s, who came to ask 
Mr. William to ride out with him, which finished the con- 
ference. 

The fair Emma from this time assumed an air of satis- 
faction ; and William frequently stole away from his 
companions to talk to his sister upon their favourite 
subject. , 

While these things passed at the castle of Lovel, Edmund, 
and his companion John Wyatt, proceeded on their 
journey to Sir Philip Barclay’s seat : they conversed 
together on the way, and Edmund found him a man of 
understanding, though not improved by education ; he 
also discovered that John loved his master, and respected 


106 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


him even to veneration : from him he learned many par- 
ticulars concerning that worthy knight. Wyatt told him 
that Sir Philip maintained twelve old soldiers, who had 
been maimed and disabled in the wars, and had no pro- 
vision made for them ; also six old officers who had been 
■unfortunate, and had grown gfrey without preferment : he 
likewise mentioned the G-reek gentleman, his master’s 
captive and friend, as a man eminent for valour and piety : 
“ but besides these,” said Wyatt, “ there are many others 
who eat of my master’s bread, and drink of his cup, and 
who join in blessings and prayers to heaven for their noble 
benefactor : his ears are ever open to distress, his hand to 
relieve it, and he shares in every good man’s joys and 
blessings.” “ Oh, what a glorious character ! ” said 
Edmund : “ how my heart throbs with wishes to imitate 
such a man ! Oh, that I might resemble him, though at 
ever so great a distance ! ” Edmund was never weary of 
hearing the actions of this truly great man, nor Wyatt 
with relating them ; and during three days’ journey there 
were few pauses in their conversation. 

The fourth day, when they came within view of the 
house, Edmund’s heart began to raise doubts of his re- 
ception. “ If,” said he, “ Sir Philip should not receive me 
kindly : if he should resent my long neglect, and disown 
my acquaintance, it would be rlo more than justice.” 

He sent Wyatt before, to justify his arrival to Sir 
Philip, while he waited at the gate, full of doubts and 
anxieties concerning his reception. Wyatt was met and 
congratulated on his return by most of his fellow-servants ; 
he asked, “ Where is my master ? ” “In the parlour.” 
“ Are any strangers with him ? ” “ No, only his own 


THE OLD ENGLISH BAEON. 


107 


family.” “Then I will show myself to him.” He pre* 
sented himself before Sir Philip. “So, John,” said he, 
“ you are welcome home. I hope you left your parents 
and relations well.” “ All well, thank G-od I and send 
their humble duty to your honour, and they pray for you 
every day of their lives ; I hope your honour is in good 
health.” “Very well.” “Thank God for that ! but, sir, 
I have something further to tell ; I have had a companion 
all the way home, a person who comes to wait on your 
honour on business of great consequence, as he says.” 

Who is that, John ? ” “ It is Master Edmund Twyford, 

from the castle of Lovel.” “ Young Edmund ! ” said Sir 
Philip, surprised. “ Where is he ? ” “ At the gate, sir.” 

“ Why did you* leave him there ? ” “ Because he bade me 

come before, and acquaint your honour that he waits your 
pleasure.” “ Bring him hither,” said Sir Philip ; “ tell 
him I shall be glad to see him.” 

John made haste to deliver his message, and Edmund 
followed him in ^lence into Sir Philip’s presence : he 
bowed low, and kept at a distance. Sir Philip held out 
his hand, and bade him approach. As he drew near, he 
was seized with a universal trembling ; he kneeled down, 
took his hand, kissed it, and pressed it to his heart in 
silence. 

“ You are welcome, young man,” said Sir Philip : “ take 
courage, and speak for yourself.” Edmund sighed deeply : 
he at length broke silence with difficulty. “ I am come 
thus far, noble sir, to throw myself at your feet, and im- 
plore your protection. You are, under God, my only 
reliance.” “ I receive you,” said Sir Philip, “ with all my 
heart ! Your person is greatly improved since I saw you 


108 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


last, and I hope your mind is equally so ; I have heard a 
great character of you from some that knew you in France. 
I remember the promise I made you long ago, and am now 
ready to fulfil it, upon condition that you have done 
nothing to disgrace the good opinion I formerly enter- 
tained of you ; and am ready to serve you in anything 
consistent with my own honour.” Edmund kissed the 
hand that was extended to raise him. “ I accept your 
favour, sir, upon this condition only ; and if ever you find 
me to impose upon your credulity, or encroach on your 
goodness, may you renou#.ce me from that moment ! ” 
“Enough,” said Sir Philip; “rise, then, and let me em- 
brace you : you are truly welcome ! ” “ “ Oh, noble sir,” 
said Edmund, “ I have a strange story to tell you ; but it 
must be by ourselves, with only Heaven to bear witness to 
what passes between us.” “ Very well,” said Sir Philip ; 
“ I am ready to hear you ; but first go and get some 
refreshment after yout journey, and then come to me 
again : John Wyatt will attend you.” “ I want no refresh- 
ment,” said Edmund ; “and I cannot eat or drink, till I 
have told my business to your honour.” “Well, then,”^ 
said Sir Philip, “come along with me.” He took the 
youth by the hand, and led him into another parlour, 
leaving his friends in great surprise what this young 
man’s errand could be. John Wyatt told them all he 
knew relating to Edmund’s birth, character, and situation. 

When Sir Philip had seated his young friend, he listened 
in silence to the surprising tale he had to tell him. 
Edmund told him briefly the most remarkable circum- 
stances of his life, from the time that he first saw and 
, liked him, till his return from France ; but from that era 


THE OjjD ENGLISH BARON. 


109 


he related at large everything that had happened, re- 
counting every interesting particular which was imprinted 
on his memory in strong and lasting characters. Sir Philip 
.grew every moment more affected by the recital ; some- 
times he clasped his hands together, he lifted them up to 
heaven, he smote his breast, he sighed, lie exclaimed 
aloud : when Edmund related his dream, he breathed 
short, and seemed to devour him with attention : when he 
described the fatal closet, he trembled, sighed, sobbed, and 
was almost suffocated with his agitations : but when he 
related all that had passed between his supposed mother 
and himself, and finally produced the jewels, the proofs of 
his birth, and the death of his unfortunate mother, he flew 
to him, he pressed him to his bosom, he strove to speak, 
but speech was for some minutes denied. He wept aloud ; 
and at length his words found their way in broken ex- 
clamations : “ Son of my dearest friend ! dear and precious 
relic of a noble house ! child of providence ! the beloved 
of heaven ! welcome, thrice welcome to my arms, to my 
heart ! I will be thy parent from henceforward, and thou 
shalt be indeed my child, my heir ! My mind told me, 
from the first moment I beheld thee, that thou wert the 
image of my friend ; my heart then opened itself to receive 
thee as his offspring. I had a strange foreboding that I 
was to be thy protector. I would then have made thee 
my own, but Heaven orders things for the best ; it made 
thee the instrument of this discovery, and in its own time 
and manner conducted thee to my arms. Praise be to God 
for his wonderful doings towards the children of men ! 
everything that has befallen thee is by His direction, and 
He will not leave His work unfinished. I trust that I shall 


110 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


be the instrument to do justice on the guilty, and to restore 
the orphan of my friend to his rights and title. I devote 
myself to this service, and will make it the business of 
my life to effect it.'” 

Edmund gave vent to his emotions in raptures of joy 
and gratitude. They spent several hours in this way, with- 
out thinking of the time that passed : the one inquiring, 
the other explaining and repeating every particular of the 
interesting story. 

At length they were interrupted by the careful John 
"Wyatt, who was anxious to know if anything was likely 
to give trouble to his master. “ Sir,” said John, “ it grows 
dark, do you want a light ? ” “ We want no light but 

what Heaven gives us,” said Sir Philip ; “ I knew not 
whether it was dark or light.” “I hope,” said John, 
“ nothing has happened ! I hope your honour has hea^d 
no bad tidings ! — I — I — I hope no offence.” “ None at 
all,” said the good knight ; “ I am obliged to your solici- 
tude for me ; I have heard some things that grieve me, 
and others that give me great pleasure ; but the sorrows 
are past and the joys remain.” “ Thank G-od ! ” said 
John; “ I was afraid something was the matter to give 
your honour trouble.” “ I thank you, my good servant ! you 
see this young gentleman ; I would have you, John, devote 
yourself to his service : I give you to him for an attendant 
on his person, and would have you show your affection to 
me by your attachment to him.” “ Oh, sir ! ” said Jphn, 
in a melancholy voice, “ what have I done to be turned 
out of your service ? ” No such matter, John,” said Sir 
Philip ; “ you will not leavje my service.” “ Sir,” said 
John, “I would rather die than leave you.” “And, my 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


Ill 


lad, I like you too well to part with you ; but in serving 
my friend you will serve me ! Know that this young man 
is my son.” “ Your son, .sir ! ” said John. “ Not my 
natural son, but my relation ; my son by adoption, my 
heir I ” “ And will he live with you, sir ? ” “ Yes, John ; 
and I hope to die with him.” “ 0h, then, I will serve him 
with all my heart and soul ! and I will do my best to 
please you both.” “ I thank you, John, and I will not 
forget your honest love and duty. I have so good an 
opinion of you that I will tell you of some things con- 
cerning this gentleman that will entitle him to your 
respect.” “ ’Tis enough for me,” said John, “to know 
that your honour respects him, to make me pay him 
as much duty as yourself.” “ But, John, when you know 
him better, you will respect him still more. At present 
I shall only tell you what he is not, for you think him 
only the son of Andrew Twyford.” “ And is he not ? ” 
said John. “ No ; but his wife nursed him, and he passed 
for her son.” “And does old Twyford know it, sir?” 
“ He does, and will bear witness to it ; but he is the son of 
a near friend of mine, of quality superior to my own, 
and as such you must serve and respect him.” “ I shall, 
to be sure, sir ; but what name shall I call him ? ” “ You 
shall know that hereafter : in the meantime bring a light, 
and wait on us to the other parlour.” 

When John was withdrawn Sir Philip said, “ That is a 
point to be considered and determined immediately. It is 
proper that you should assume a name until you can take 
that of your father ; for I choose you should drop that of 
your foster-father, and I would have you be called by one 
that is respectable.” “ In that, and every other point, I 


112 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


will be wholly governed by you, sir,” said Edmund. 
“ Well, then, I will give you the name of Seagrave. I 
shall say that you are a relation of my own ; and my 
mother was really of that family.” 

John soon returned, and attended them into the orther 
parlour. Sir Philip entered with Edmund in his hand. 

My friends,” said he, “ this gentleman is Mr. Edmund 
Seagrave, the son of a dear friend and relation of mine. 
He was lost in his infancy, brought up by a good woman 
out of pure humanity, and is but lately restored to his 
own family. The circumstances shall be made known here- 
after ; in the meantime I have taken him under my care 
and protection, and will use all my power and interest to 
see him restored to his fortune, which is enjoyed by the 
usurper who was the cause of his expulsion, and the death 
of his parents. Receive him as my relation and friend. 
Zadisky, do you embrace him first. Edmund, you and 
this gentleman must love each other for my sake ; here- 
after you will do it for your own.” They all rose ; each 
embraced and congratulated the young man. Zadisky 
said. “ Sir, whatever griefs and misfortunes you may have 
ondured, you may reckon them at an end from the hour 
you are beloved and protected by Sir Philip Harclay.” 

I firmly believe it, sir,” replied Edmund ; “ and my 
heart enjoys already more happiness than I ever yet felt 
and promises me all that I can wish in future. His 
friendship is the earnest Heaven gives me to its blessings 
hereafter.” 

They sat down to supper with mutual cheerfulness, 
and Edmund enjoyed the repast with more satisfaction 
than he had felt for a long time. Sir Philip saw his 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


113 


countenance brighten up, and looked on him with heartfelt 
pleasure. “ Every time I look on you,” said he, “ reminds 
me of your , father ; you are the same person I loved 
twenty-three years ago ; I rejoice to see you under my 
roof. Go to your repose early, and to-morrow we will 
consult further.” Edmund withdrew, and enjoyed a night 
of sweet, undisturbed repose. 

The next morning Edmund arose in perfect health and 
spirits — he waited on his benefactor. They were soon 
after joined by Zadisky, who showed great attention and 
respect to the youth, and offered him his best services 
without reserve. Edmund accepted them with equal re- 
spect and modesty ; and finding himself at ease, began to 
display his amiable qualities. They breakfasted together ; 
afterwards Sir Philip desired Edmund to walk out with 
him 

As soon as th^y were out of hearing, Sir Philip said, 
■“ I could not sleep last night for thinking of your affairs. 
I laid schemes for you, and rejected them again. We 
must lay our plan before we begin to act. What shall be 
done with this treacherous kinsman ? this inhuman mon- 
ster ! this assassin of his nearest relation ! I will risk 
my life and fortune to bring him to justice. Shall I go 
to court, and demand justice of the king ? or shall I accuse 
him of the murder, and make him stand a public trial ? 
If I treat him as a baron of the realm, he must be tried 
by his peers ! if as a commoner, he must be tried at the 
county assize ; but we must show reason why he should 
foe degraded from his title. Have you anything to pro- 
pose ? ” “ Nothing, sir ; I have only to wish that it 

might be as private as possible, for the sake of my noble 


114 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


benefactor, the Lord Fitz-Owen, upon whom some part of 
the family disgrace would naturally fall ; and that would 
be an ill return for all his kindness and generosity to me.” 
“ That is a generous and grateful consideration on your 
part ; but you owe still more to the memory of your 
injured parents. However, there is yet another way that 
suits me better than any hitherto proposed. I will chal- 
lenge the traitor .to meet me in the field ; and if he has 
spirit enough to answer my call, I will there bring him 
to justice ; if not, I will bring him to a public trial.” 

“ No, sir,” said Edmund, “ that is my province. Should 
I stand by and see my noble, gallant friend, expose his 
life for me, I should be unworthy to bear the name of 
that friend whom you so much lament. It will become 
his son to vindicate his name, and revenge his death. I 
will be the challenger, and no other.” “ And do you think 
he will answer the challenge of an unknown youth, with 
nothing but his pretensions to his name and title ? Cer- 
tainly not. Leave this matter to me. I will think of a 
way that will oblige him to meet me at the house of a 
third person, who is known to all the parties concerned, 
and where we will have authentic witnesses of all that 
passes* between him and me. I will devise the time, place, 
and manner, and satisfy all your scruples.” Edmund 
offered to reply ; but Sir Philip bade him be silent, and 
let him proceed in his own way. 

He then led him over his estate, and showed him every- 
thing deserving his notice. He told him all the par- 
ticulars of his domestic economy ; and they returned 
home in time to meet their friends at dinner. 

They spent several days in consulting how to bring Sir 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


115 


Walter to account, and in improving their friendship and 
confidence in each other. Edmund endeared himself so 
much to his friend and patron, that he declared him his 
adopted son and heir before all his friends and servants, 
and ordered them to respect him as such. He every day 
improved their love and regard for him, and became the 
darling of the whole family. 

After much consideration Sir Philip fixed his resolu- 
tions, and began to execute his purposes. He set out for 
the seat of the Lord Clifford, attended by Edmund, M. 
Zadisky, and two servants. Lord Clifford received them 
with kindness and hospitality. 

Sir Philip presented Edmund to Lord Clifford and his 
family as his near relation and presumptive heir. They 
spent the evening in the pleasures of copvivial mirth and 
hospitable entertainment. The next day Sir Philip began 
to open his mind to Lord Clifford, informing him that 
both his young friend and himself had received great in- 
juries from the present Lord Lovel, for which they were 
resolved to call him to account ; but that, for many 
reasons, they were desirous to have proper witnesses of all 
that should pass between them, begging the favour of his 
lordship to be the principal one. Lord Clifford acknow- 
ledged the confidence placed in him ; and besought Sir 
Philip to let him be the arbitrator between them. Sir 
Philip assured him that their wrongs would not admit of 
arbitration, as he should hereafter judge ; but that he was 
unwilling to explain them further till he knew certainly 
whether or not the Lord Lovel would meet him ; for, if 
he refused, he must take another method with him. 

Lord Clifford was desirous to know the grounds of the 


116 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


quarrel, but Sir Philip declined entering into particulars 
at present, assuring him of a full information hereafter. 
He then sent M. Zadisky, attended by John Wyatt, and a* 
servant of Lord Clifford, with a letter to Lord Lovel ; the 
contents were as follows : — 

“ My Lord Lovel, 

“ Sir Philip Harclay earnestly desires to see you at the 
house of Lord Clifford, where he waits to call you to ac- 
count for the injuries done by you to the late Arthur 
Lord Lovel, your kinsman. If you accept his demand, 
he will make Lord Clifford a witness and a judge of the 
cause ; if not, he will expose you publicly as a traitor and 
a coward. Please to answer this letter, and he will ac- 
quaint you with the time and place and manner of the 
meeting. '‘Philip Harclay.” 

Zadisky presented the letter to Lord Lovel, informing 
him that he was the friend of Sir Philip Harclay. He 
seemed surprised and confounded at the contents ; but 
putting on a haughty air, “ I know nothing,” said he, “ of 
the business this letter hints at ; but wait a few hours, 
and I will give you an answer.” He gave orders to treat 
Zadisky as a gentleman in every respect, except in avoid- 
ing his comi^any ; for the Greek had a shrewd and pene- 
trating aspect, and he observed every turn of his counte- 
nance. The next day he came and apologised for his 
absence, and gave him the answer, sending his respects to 
the Lord Clifford. The messenger returned with all speed, 
and Sir Philip read the answer before all present : — 

“Lord Lovel knows not of any injuries done by him to 
the late Arthur Lord Lovel, whom he succeeded by just 
right of inheritance ; nor of any right Sir Philip Harclay 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


117 


has to call to account a man to whom he is barely known, 
having seen him only once, many years ago, at the house 
of his uncle, the old Lord Lovel. Nevertheless, Lord 
Lovel will not suffer any man to call his name and 
honour into question with impunity ; for which reason 
he will meet Sir Philip Harclay at any time, place, and 
in what manner he shall appoint, bringing the same 
number of friends and dependants, that justice may be 
done to all parties. “ Lovel.” 

“ It is well,” said Sir Philip ; “ I am glad to find he has 
the spirit to meet me ; he is an enemy worthy of my 
sword.” Lord Clifford then proposed that all parties 
should pass the borders, and obtain leave of the warden 
of the Scottish marches to decide the quarrel in his juris- 
diction with a select number of friends on both sides. Sir 
Philip agreed to the proposal, and Lord Clifford wrote in 
his owm name, to ask permission of the Lord Craham that 
his friends might come there, and obtained it on con- 
dition that neither party should exceed a limited number 
of friends and followers. 

Lord Clifford sent chosen messengers to Lord Lovel, 
acquainting him with the conditions, and appointing the 
time, place, and matiner of their meeting, and that he had 
been desired to accept the office of judge of the field. 
Lord Lovel accepted the conditions, and promised to be 
there without fail. Lord Clifford notified the same to 
Lord Graham, warden of the marches, who caused a piece 
of ground to be enclosed for the lists, and made prepara- - 
tions against the day appointed. 

In the interim Sir Philip Harclay thought proper to 
settle his worldly affairs ; he made Zadisky acquainted 


118 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


with every circumstance of Edmund’s history, and the 
obligation that lay upon him to revenge the death of his 
friend, and see justice done to his heir. Zadisky entered 
into the cause with an ardour that spoke the affection he 
bore to his friend. “ Why,” said he, “ would you not 
suffer me to engage this traitor. Your life is of too 
much consequence to be staked against his ; but though 
I trust that the justice of your cause must succeed, yet, if 
it should happen otherwise, I vow to revenge you ; he 
shall never go back from us both ; however, my hope and 
trust is, to see your arm the minister of justice.” Sir 
Philip then sent for a lawyer, and made his will, by which 
he appointed Edmund his chief heir, by the name of 
Lovel, alias Seagrave, alias Twyford ; he ordered that all 
his old friends, soldiers, and servants should be main- 
tained in the same manner during their lives ; he left to' 
Zadisky an annuity of a hundred a year, and a legacy of 
two hundred pounds ; one hundred pounds to a certain 
monastery ; the same sum to be distributed among dis- 
banded soldiers, and the same to the poor and needy in his 
neighbourhood. 

He appointed Lord Clifford joint executor with Edmund, 
and gave his will into that nobleman’s care, recommend- 
ing Edmund to his favour and protection. “ If I live,” 
said he, “ I will make him appear to be worthy of it ; if 
I die, he will want a friend. I am desirous your lord- 
ship, as a judge of the field, should be unprejudiced on 
either side, that you may judge impartially. If I die 
Edmund’s pretensions die with me ; but my friend 
Zadisky will acquaint you with the foundation of them. 
I take these precautions because I ought to be prepared 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


119 


for everything, but my heart is warm with better hopes, 
and I trust I shall live to justify my own cause as well as’ 
that of my friend, who is a person of more consequence 
than he appears to be.” Lord Clifford accepted the trust, 
and . expressed the greatest reliance upon Sir Philip’s 
honour and veracity. 

While these preparations were making for the great 
event that was to decide the pretensions of Edmund, his 
enemies at the castle of Lovel were brought to shame for 
their behaviour to him. 

The disagreement between Wenlock and Markham had 
by degrees brought on an explanation of some parts of 
their conduct. Father Oswald had often hinted to the 
baron Wenlock’s envy of Edmund’s superior qualities, and 
the artifices by which he had obtained such an influence 
with Sir Robert, as to make him take his part upon all 
occasions. Oswald now took advantage of the breach be- 
tween these two incendiaries to persuade Markham to 
justify himself at Wenlock’s expense, and to tell all he 
knew of his wickedness. At length he promised to declare 
all he knew of Wenlock’s conduct, as well in France as 
since their return, when he should be called upon : and, 
by him, Oswald was enabled to unravel the whole of his 
contrivances against the honour, interest, and even life of 
Edmund. 

He prevailed on Hewson, and Kemp, his associate, to 
add their testimony to the others. Hewson confessed 
that he was touched in his conscience when he reflected 
on the cruelty and injustice of his behaviour to Edmund, 
whose behaviour towards him, after he had laid a snare 
for his life, was so noble and generous, that he was cut to 


120 


THE OLD ENGIHSH BAROX. 


the heart by it, and had suffered so much pain and re- 
jnorse, that he longed for nothing so much as an oppor- 
tunity to unburden his mind ; but the dread of Mr. 
Wenlock’s anger, and the effects of his resentment, had 
hitherto kept him silent, always hoping there would come 
a time when he might have leave to declare the whole 
truth, 

Oswald conveyed this information to the baron’s ear, 
who waited for an opportunity to make the proper use of 
it. Not long after the two principal incendiaries came to 
an open rupture, and Markham threatened Wenlock that 
he would show his uncle what a serpent he had harboured 
in his bosom. The baron arrested his words, and insisted 
upon his telling all he knew ; adding, “ If you speak the 
truth, I will support you ; but, if you prove false, I will 
punish you severely. As to Mr. Wenlock, he shall have a 
fair trial ; and, if all the accusations I have heard are 
made good, it is high time that I should put him out of 
my family.” The baron, with a stern aspect, bade them 
follow him into the great hall : and sent for all the rest 
of the family together. 

He then, with great solemnity, told them he was ready 
to hear all sides of the question. He declared the whole 
substance of his informations, and called upon the 
accusers to support the charge. Hewson and Kemp gave 
the same account they had done to Oswald, offering to 
swear to the truth of their testimony. Several of the 
other servants related such circumstances as had come to 
their knowledge, Markham then spoke of everything, 
and gave a particular account of all that had passed 
on the night they had spent in the east apartment ; he 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


121 


accused himself of being; privy to Wenlock’s villainy, called 
himself fool and blockhead for being the instrument of ^ 
his malignant disposition, and asked pardon of his uncle 
for concealing it so long. 

The baron called upon Wenlock to reply to the charge, 
who, instead of answering, flew into a passion, raged, 
swore, threatened, and Anally denied everything. The 
witnesses persisted in their assertions. Markham desired 
leave to make known the reason why they were all afraid 
of him. “ He gave it out,” said he, “ that he is to be my 
lord’s son-in-law ; and they, supposing him to stand first 
in his favour, are afraid of his displeasure.” “ I hope,” 
said the baron, “ I shall not be at such a loss for a son-in- 
law as to make choice of such a one as he ; he never but 
once hinted at such a thing, and I then gave him no en- 
couragement. I have long seen there was something very 
wrong in him ; but I did not believe he was of so wicked 
a disposition. It is no wonder that princes should be so 
frequently deceived, when I, a private man, could be so 
much imposed upon within the circle of my own family. 
What think you, son Robert 1 ” “ I, sir, have been much 

more imposed upon ; and I take shame to myself on the 
occasion.” “ Enough, my son,” said the baron ; “ a gene- 
rous confession is only a proof of growing wisdom. You 
are now sensible that the best of us are all liable to im- 
position. The artifices of this unworthy kinsman have 
set us at variance with each other, and driven away an 
excellent youth from this house, to go I know not whither. 
But he shall no longer triumph in his wickedness ; he 
shall feel what it is to be bti^ished from the house of his 
protector. He shall set out for his mother’s this very day ; 


122 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


I will write to her in such a manner as shall inform her 
that he has offended me, without particularising the 
nature of his faults. I will give him an opportunity of 
recovering his credit with his own family ; and this shall 
be my security against his doing further mischief. May 
he repent, and be forgiven ! ” 

“ Markham deserves punishment, but not in the same 
degree.” “I confess it,” said he, “and will submit to 
whatever your lordship shall enjoin.” “ You shall only 
be banished for a time, but he for ever. I will send you 
abroad, on a business that shall do credit to yourself and 
service to me. Son Robert, have you any objection to 
my sentence ? ” “ My lord,” said he, “ I have great reason 

to distrust myself ; I am sensible of my own weakness, 
and your superior wisdom, as well as goodness ; and I will 
henceforward submit to you in all things.” 

The baron ordered two of his servants to pack up Wen- 
lock’s clothes and necessaries, and to set out with him 
that very day. He bade some others keep an eye upon 
him, lest he should escape. As soon as they were ready, 
my lord wished him a good journey, and gave him a letter 
for his mother. He departed without saying a word, in a 
sullen kind of ^resentment ; but his countenance showed 
the inward agitations of his mind. 

As soon as he was gone, every mouth was opened against 
him ; a thousand stories came out that they never heard 
before. The baron and his sons were astonished that he 
should go on so long without detection. My lord sighed 
deeply at the thought of Edmund’s expulsion, and ardently 
wished to know what was become of him. 

Sir Robert took the opportunity of coming to an expla- 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


123 


nation with his brother William ; he took shame to him- 
self for some part of his past behaviour. Mr. William 
owned his affection to Edmund, and justified it by his 
merit and attachment to him, which were such, that he 
was certain no time or distance could alter them. He 
accepted his brother’s acknowledgment, as a full amends 
for all that had passed, and begged that henceforward an 
entire love and confidence might ever subsist between 
them. These new regulations restored peace, confidence, 
and harmony in the castle of Lovel. 

At length the day arrived for the combatants to meet. 
The Lord Glraham, with twelve followers, gentlemen, and 
twelve servants, was ready at the dawn of day to receive 
them. ‘ 

The first that entered the field was Sir Philip Harclay, 
knight, armed completely, excepting his head - piece I 
Hugh Rugby, his esquire, bearing his lance ; John 
Barnard, his page, carrying his helmet and spurs ; and 
two servants in his proper livery. The next came 
Edmund, the heir of Lovel, followed by his servant, 
John Wyatt ; Zadisky, followed by his servant. 

At a short distance came the Lord Clifford, as judge of 
the field, with his esquire, two pages, and two livery 
servants ; followed by his eldest son, his nephew, and a 
gentleman, his friend, each attended by one servant ; 
he also brought a surgeon of note to take care of the 
wounded. 

The Lord Graham saluted them ; and by his order they 
took their places without the lists, and the trumpet 
sounded for the challenger. It was answered by the de- 
fendant, who soon after appeared, attended by three 


124 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


sfentlemen, his friends, witli each one servant, besides his 
own proper attendants. A place was erected for the Lord 
Clifford, as judge of the field. He desired Lord G-rahani 
would share the office ; who accepted it, on condition that 
the combatants should make no objection ; and they 
agreed to it with the greatest courtesy and respect. They 
consulted together on many points of honour and cere- 
mony between the two combatants. 

They appointed a marshal of the field, and other in- 
ferior officers, usually employed on these occasions. The 
Lord Grraham sent the marshal for the challenger, desir- 
ing him to declare the cause of his quarrel before his 
enemy. Sir Philip Harclay then £^vanced, and thus 
spoke : — 

I. Philip Harclay, knight, challenge Walter, com- 
monly called Lord Lovel, as a base, treacherous, and 
bloody man, who, by his wicked arts and devices, did kill, 
or cause to be killed, his kinsman, Arthur Lord Lovel, my 
dear and noble friend. I am called upon in an extra- 
ordinary manner to revenge his death : and I will prove 
the truth of what I have affirmed at the peril of my 
life.” 

Lord Graham then bade the defendant answer to the 
charge. Lord Lovel stood forth before his followers, and 
thus replied ; — 

“ I, Walter, Baron of Lovel, do deny the charge against 
me, and affirm it to be a base, false, and malicious accu- 
sation of this Sir Philip Harclay, which I believe to be 
invented by himself, or else framed by some enemy, and 
told to him for wicked ends ; but, be that as it may, I 
will maintain my own honour, and prove him to be a false 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


125 


traitor, at the hazard of my own life, and to the punish- 
ment of his presumption.” 

Then said the Lord Graham, “ Will not this quarrel 
admit of arbitration “ No,” replied Sir Philip ; “ when 
I have justified this charge, I have more to bring against 
him. I trust in God, and the justice of my cause, and 
defy that traitor to the death ! ” Lord Clifford then spoke 
a few words to Lord Graham, who immediately called to 
the marshal, and bade him open the lists, and deliver 
their weapons to the combatants. ^ 

While the marshal was arranging the combatants and 
their followers, Edmund approached his friend and patron; 
he put one knee to the ground, he embraced his knees with 
the strongest emotions of grief and anxiety. He was 
dressed in complete armour, with his vizor down ; his de- 
vice was a hawthorn, with a graft of the rose upon it : 
the motto. This is not my true liarent ; but Sir Philip bade 
him take these words, Efructu arbor coynoseitur. 

Sir Philip embraced the youth with strong marks of 
affection. “ Be composed, my child I ” said he ; “I have 
neither guilt, feai*, nor doubt in me ; I am so certain of 
success, that I bid you be prepared for the consequence.” 
Zadisky embraced his friend ; he comforted Edmund, he 
suggested everything that could confiz-m his hopes of 
success. 

The marshal waited to deliver the spear to Sir Philip : 
he now presented it with the usual form : “ Sir, receive 
your lance, and God defend the right ! ” Sir Philip 
answered, “ Amen ! ” in a voice that was heard by all 
present. 

He next pi*esented his weapon to Lord Lovel with the 


126 THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 

same sentence, who likewise answered, “ Amen ! ” with a 
good courage. Immediately the lists were cleared, and 
the combatants began to fight. 

They contended a long time with equal skill and 
courage ; at length Sir Philip unhorsed his antagonist. 
The judges ordered that either he should alight or suffer 
his enemy to remount ; he chose the former, and a short 
combat on foot ensued. The sweat ran off their bodies 
with the violence of the exercise. Sir Philip watched 
every#motion of his enemy, and strove to weary him out, 
intending to wound, but not to kill him, unless obliged 
for his own safety. 

He thrust his sword through his left arm, and demanded 
whether he would confess the fact ? Lord Lovel, enraged, 
answered, “ He would die sooner.” Sir Philip then passed 
the sword through his body twice, and Lord Lovel fell, 
crying out that he was slain. 

“ I hope not,” said Sir'Philip, “ for I have a great deal 
of business for you to do before you die. Confess your 
sins, and endeavour to atone for them, as the only ground 
to hope for pardon.” Lord Lovel replied, “ You are the 
victor ; use your good fortune generously ! ” 

Sir Philip took away his sword, and then waved it over 
his head, and beckoned for assistance. The judges sent 
to beg Sir Philip to spare the life of his enemy. “ I will,” 
said he, “upon condition that he will make an honest 
confession.” 

Lord Lovel desired a surgeon and a confessor. “You 
shall have both,” said Sir Philip, “but you must first 
answer me a question or two. Did you kill your kins- 
man, or not? ” “ It was not my hand that killed him,” 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 127 

answered the wounded man. “ It was done by your own 
order, however 1 ' You shall have no assistance till you 
answer this point.” “ It was,” said he, “ and Heaven is 
just ! ” “ Bear witness, all present,” said Sir Philip, “ he 

confesses the fact ! ” 

He then beckoned Edmund, who approached. “ Take 
off your helmet,” said he : “ Look on that youth, he is the 
son of your injured kinsman.” “ It is himself ! ” said the 
Lord Lovel, and fainted away. 

Sir Philip then called for a surgeon and a priest, both 
of which Lord Glraham had provided ; the former began 
to bind up his wounds, and his assistants poured a cordial 
into his mouth. “ Preserve his life, if it be possible,” 
said Sir Philip ; “ for much depends upon it.” 

He then took Edmund by the hand, and presented him 
to all the company. “ In this young man,” said he, “ you 
see the true heir of the house of Lovel ! Heaven has, in 
its own way, made him the instrument to discover the 
death of his parents. His father was assassinated by 
order of that wicked man, who now receives his punish- 
ment ; his mother was, by his cruel treatment, compelled 
to leave her own house ; she was delivered in the fields, 
and perished herself in seeking a shelter for her infant. 
I have sufficient proofs of everything I say, which I am 
ready to communicate to every person who desires to 
know the particulars. Heaven, by my hand, has chastised 
him ; he has confessed the fact I accuse him of, and it 
remains that he make restitution of the fortune and 
honours he hath usurped so long.” 

Edmund kneeled, and, with uplifted hands, returned 
thanks to Heaven that his noble friend and champion 


128 


THE OLD ENGLISH BAEON. 


was crowned with victory. The lords and gentlemen 
gathered round them ; they congratulated them both ; 
while Lord Lovel’s friends and followers were employed 
in taking care of him. Lord Clifford took Sir Philip’s 
hand : “ You have acted with so much honour and pru- 
dence, that it is presumptuous to offer you advice ; but 
what mean you to do with the wounded man ? ” “I have 
not determined,” said he ; “I thank you for the hint, and 
beg your advice how to proceed.” “ Let us consult Lord 
Grraham,” replied he. Lord Graham insisted upon their 
going all to his castle; ■“ There,” said he, “ you will have 
impartial witnesses of all that passes.” Sir Philip was 
unwilling to give so much trouble. The Lord Graham 
protested he should be proud to do any service to so 
noble a gentleman. Lord Clifford enforced his request,, 
saying, it was better, upon all accounts, to keep their 
prisoner on this side the borders, till they saw what turn 
his health would take, and to keep him safely till he had 
settled his worldly affairs. 

This resolution being taken, Lord Graham invited the 
wounded man and his friends to his castle, as being the 
nearest place where he could be lodged and taken care of, 
it being dangerous to carry him farther. They accepted 
the proposal with many acknowledgments ; and having 
made a kind of litter of boughs, they all proceeded to 
Lord Graham’s castle, where they put Lord Lovel to bed, 
and the surgeon dressed his wounds and desired he might 
be kept quiet, not knowing at present whether they were 
-dangerous or not. 

About an hour after the wounded man complained of 
thkst ; he asked for the surgeon, and inquired if his life 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 12S> 

was in danger. The surgeon answered him doubtfully. 
He asked, “ Where is Sir Philip Harclay ? ” “In the 
castle.” “ Where is that young man whom he calls the 
heir of Lovel ? ” “ He is here too.” “ Then I am sur- 

rounded with my enemies. I want to speak to one of 
my own servants, without witnesses ; let one be sent to 
me.” 

The surgeon withdrew and acquainted the gentlemen 
below. “ He shall not speak to any man,” said Sir Philip, 

“ but in my presence.” He went with him into the sick 
man’s room. Upon the sight of Sir Philip he seemed im 
great agitation. “ Am I not allowed to speak with mj” 
own servant ? ” said he. “ Yes, sir, you may, but not 
without witnesses.” “ Then I am a prisoner, it seems 2 ” 

“ No, not so, sir ; but some caution is necessary at present. 
But compose yourself ; I do not wish for your death.” 

“ Then why did you seek it ? I never injured you.” “ Yes,, 
you have, in the person of my friend, and I am only the- 
instrument of justice in the hand of Heaven : endeavour 
to make atonemerrt while life is spared to you. Shall I 
send the priest to you 2 perhaps he may convince you of' 
the necessity of restitution in order to obtain forgiveness, 
of your sins.”' 

Sir Philip sent for the priest and the surgeon, and 
obliged the servant to retire with him. “ I leave you, sir, 
to the care of these gentlemen ; and whenever a third 
person is admitted, I will be his attendant. I will visit " 
you again within an hour.” He then retired and con- 
sulted his friends below ; they were of opinion that no 
time should be lost. “ You will then,” said he, “ accom- 
pany me into the sick man’s apartment in an hour’s time.”' 


130 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


Within the hour Sir Philip, attended by Lord Clifford 
and Lord Grraham, entered the chamber. Lord Lovel was 
in great emotion ; the priest stood on one side of the bed, 
the surgeon on the other ; the former exhorted him to 
confess his sins, the other desired he might be left to his 
repose. Lord Lorel seemed in great anguish of mind ; 
he trembled, and was in the utmost confusion. Sir Philip 
entreated him, with the piety of a confessor, to consider 
his soul’s health before that of his body. He then asked 
Sir Philip by what means he knew that he was concerned 
in the death of his kinsman ? “ Sir,” replied he, “ it was 

not merely by human means this fact was discovered. 
There is a certain apartment in the castle of Lovel that 
has been shut up these one-and-twenty years, but has 
lately been opened and examined into.” 

“ Oh, Heaven ! ” exclaimed he, “ then Geoffrey must 
have betrayed me ! ” “ No, sir, he has not ; it was re- 

vealed in a very extraordinary manner to that youth 
whom it most concerns.” “ How can he be the heir of 
Lovel ? ” “ By being the son of that unfortunate woman 
whom you cruelly obliged to leave her own house to avoid 
being compelled to wed the murderer of her husband. We 
are not ignorant, moreover, of the fictitious funeral you 
made for her. All is discovered, and you will not tell us 
any more than we know already ; but we desire to have 
it confirmed by your confession.” “ The judgments of 
Heaven are falling upon me 1 ” said Lord Lovel. “ I am 
childless, and one is risen from the grave to claim my in- 
heritance I ” “Nothing, then, hinders you to do justice 
and make restitution ; it is for the ease of your con- 
science ; and you have no other way of making atone- 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


131 


ment for all the mischief you have done.” “ You know 
too much,” said the criminal, “and I will relate what you 
do not know. 

“ You may remember,” proceeded he, “ that I saw you 
once at my uncle’s house. I well remember it I At that 
time my mind was disturbed by the baneful passion of 
envy. It was from that root all my bad actions sprung.” 
“ Praise be to God 1 ” said the good priest ; “ He hath 
touched your heart with true contrition, and you show 
the effect of His mercies. You will do justice, and you 
will be rewarded by the gift of repentance unto salva- 
tion.” Sir Philip desired the penitent to proceed. 

“ My kinsman excelled me in every kind of merit in 
the graces of person and mind, in all his exercises, and in 
every accomplishment ; I was totally eclipsed by him, and 
I hated to be in his company ; but what finished my 
aversion was his addressing the lady upon whom I had 
fixed my affections. I strove to rival him there, but she 
gave him the preference. That, indeed, was only his due..; 
but I could not bear to see or acknowledge it. 

“ The most bitter hatred took possession of my breast, 
and I vowed to revenge the supposed injury as soon as 
opportunity should offer. I buried my resentment deep 
in my heart, and outwardly appeared to rejoice at his 
success. I made a merit of resigning my pretensions to 
him, but I could not bear to be present at his nuptials. I 
retired to my father’s seat, and brooded over my revenge 
in secret. My father died this year, and soon after my 
uncle followed him ; within another year my kinsman 
was summoned to attend the King on his Welsh ex 
pedition. 


132 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


“ As soon as I heard he was gone from home I resolved 
to prevent his return, exulting in the prospect of possess- 
ing his title, fortune, and his lady. I hired messengers, 
who were constantly going and coming, to give me in- 
telligence of all that passed at the castle. I went there 
soon after, under pretence of visiting my kinsman. My 
spies brought me an account of all that happened. One 
informed me of the event of the battle, but could not tell 
whether my rival was living or dead. I hoped the latter, 
that I might avoid the crime I meditated. I reported his 
death to his lady, who took it very heavily. 

“ Soon after a messenger arrived with tidings that he 
was alive and well, and had obtained leave to return 
home immediately. 

“ I instantly despatched my two emissaries to intercept 
him on the way. He made so much haste to return, that 
he was met within a mile of his own castle. He had out- 
rode his servants, and was alone. They killed him, and 
drew him aside out of the highway. They then came to 
me with all speed, and desired my orders. It was then 
about sunset. I sent them back to fetch the dead body, 
which they brought privately into the castle. They tied 
it neck and heels, and put it into a trunk, which they 
buried under the floor in the closet you mentioned. The 
sight of the body stung me to the heart ; I then felt the 
pangs of remorse, but it was too late. I took every pre- 
caution that prudence suggested l^o prevent the discovery ; 
but nothing can be concealed from the eye of Heaven. 

•‘From that fatal hour I have never known peace, 
always in fear of something impending to discover my 
guilt, and to bring me to shame. At length I am over- 


THE OLD ENGLISH BAROH. 


133 


7 ■ ^ 


taken by jnstice. I am brought to a severe reckoning 
here, and I dread to meet one more severe hereafter.” 

“ Enoiigh,” said the priest ; you have done a good 
work, my son. Trust in the Lord ; and now this burden 
is off your mind, the rest will be made easy to you." 

Lord Lovel took a minute’s repose, and then went on : 
“ I hope, by the hint you gave, Sir Philip, the poor lady 
is yet alive.” “No, sir, she is not ; but she died not till 
after she brought forth a son, whom Heaven made i*ts in- 
strument to "discover and avenge the death of both his 
parents.” “ They are well avenged I ” said he. “ I have 
no children to lament for me — all mine- have been taken 
from me in the bloom of youth ; only one daughter lived 
to be twelve years old. I intended her for a wife for one 
of my nephews, but within three months I have buried 
her.” He sighed, wept, and was silent. 

The gentlemen present lifted up their hands and eyes 
to Heaven in silence, “ The will of Heaven be obeyed ! ” 
said the priest. “ My penitent has confessed all ; what 
more would you require 1 ” “ That he make atonement,” 

said Sir Philip ; “ that he surrender the title and estate 
to the right heir, and dispose of his own proper fortune 
to his nearest relations, and resign himself to penitence 
and preparation for a future state. For the present I 
leave him with you, father, and will join my prayers with 
yours for his repentance.” 

So saying, he left the room, and was followed by the 
barons and the surgeon, the priest alone remaining with 
him. As soon as they were out of hearing Sir Philip ques- 
tioned the surgeon concerning his patient’s situation, who 
answered, “ that at present he saw no signs of immediate 


134 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


danger, but be could not yet pronounce that there was 
none.”* “If he were mortally wounded, ” said he, “he 
could not be so well, nor speak so long without faintness ; 
and it is my opinion that he will soon recover, if nothing 
happens to retard the cure.” “ Then,” said Sir Philip, 
“ keep this opinion from him ; for I would suffer the fear 
of death to operate on him until he hath performed some 
necessary acts of justice.” “Let it only be known to 
these noblemen, upon whose honour I can rely, and I 
trust they will approve my request to you, sir.” “ I join 
in it,” said Lord Clifford, “ from the same motives.” “ I 
insist upon it,” said Lord Uraham ; “ and I can answer 
for my surgeon’s discretion.” “ My lord,” said the surgeon, 
“ you may depend on my fidelity ; and after what I have 
just hearfl, my conscience is engaged in this noble gentle- 
man’s behalf, and I will do everything in my power to 
second your intentions.” “I thank you, sir,” said Sir 
Philip ; “ and you may depend on my gratitude in 
return.” “ I presume you will sit up with him to-night ; 
if any danger should arise, I desire to be called imme- 
diately ; bat, otherwise, I would suffer him to rest 
quietly, that he may be prepared for the business of the 
following day.” “ I shall obey your directions, sir ; my 
necessary attendance will give me a pretence not to leave 
him, and thus I shall hear all that passes between him 
and all that visit him.” “ You will oblige me highly,” 
said Sir Philip ; “ and I shall go to rest with confidence 
in your care.” 

The surgeon returned to the sick man’s chamber : Sir 
Philip and the barons to the company below. They 
supped in the great hall with all the gentlemen that were 


THE OLD ENGLISH LARON. 135 

present at the combat. Sir Philip and his Edmund re- 
tired to their repose, being heartily fatigued ; and the 
company stayed to a late hour commenting upon the 
action of the day, praising the courage and generosity of 
the noble knight, and wishing a good event to his under- 
taking. 

Most of Lord Lovel’s friends went away as soon a& 
they saw him safely lodged, being ashamed of him, and of 
their appearance in his behalf ; and the few that stayed 
were induced by their desire of further information of 
the base action he had committed, and to justify their 
own characters and conduct. 

The next morning Sir Philip entered into consultation 
with the two barons, on the methods he should take to 
get Edmund received and acknowledged as heir of the 
house of Lovel. They were all of opinion that the 
criminal should be kept in fear till he had settled his 
worldly affairs, and they had resolved how to dispose of 
him. With this determination they entered his room, 
and inquired of the surgeon how he had passed the night.. 
He shook his head, and said but little. 

Lord Lovel desired that he might be removed to his own 
house. Lord Graham said : He could not consent to 
that, as there was evident danger in removing him ; ” and 
appealed to the surgeon, who confirmed his opinion. Lord 
Graham desired he would make himself easy, and that he- 
should have every kind of assistance there. 

Sir Philip then proposed to send for the Lord Fitz- 
Owen, who would see that all possible care was taken of 
his brother-in-law, and- would assist him in settling his 
affairs. Lord Lovel was against it ; he was neevish and 


136 


THE OLD ENGLISH BAEON. 


uneasy, and desired to be left with only his own servants 
to attend him. Sir Philip quitted the room with a sig- 
nificant look ; and the two lords endeavoured to reconcile 
Mm to his situation. He interrupted them. “ It is easy 
for men in your situation to advise, but it is difficult for 
one in mine to practise. Wounded in body and mind, it 
is natural that I should strive to avoid the extreme of 
shame and punishment. I thank you for your kind offices, 
and beg I may be left with my own servants.’^ “ With 
them, and the surgeon, you shall,” said Lord G-raham ; 
and tbey both retired. 

Sir Philip met them below. “ My lords,” said he, “ I 
am desirous that my Lord Fitz-Owen should be sent for, 
and that he may hear his brother’s confession ; for I sus- 
pect that he may hereafter deny what only the fear of 
death has extorted from him ; with your permission, I am 
determined to send messengers to-day.” They both ex- 
pressed approbation ; and Lord Clifford proposed to write 
to him, saying, “ A letter from an impartial person will 
have the more weight. I will send one of my principal 
domestics with your own.” This measure being resolved 
upon. Lord Clifford retired to write, and Sir Philip to 
prepare his servant for instant departure. Edmund de- 
sired leave to write to father Oswald ; and John Wyatt 
was ordered to be the bearer of his letter. When the Lord 
OlifEord had finished Ms letter, he read it to Sir Philip 
and Ms chosen friends as follows : — 

Right Hon. my good Lord, 

“ I have taken upon me to acquaint your lordsMp that 
there has been a solemn combat at arms between your 


THE OLD EMGLISH BARON. 


137 


■brother-in-law, the Lord Lovel, and Sir Philip Harclay, 
Knight, of Yorkshire. It was fought in the jurisdiction 
of the Lord Graham, who, with myself, was appointed 
judge of the field. It was fairly won, and Sir Philip is- 
the conquerbr. After he had gained the victory, he de- 
clared at large the cause of the quarrel, and that he had. 
revenged the death of Arthur Lord Lovel, his friend, 
whom the present Lord Lovel had assassinated that he- 
might enjoy his title and estate. The wounded man con- 
fessed the fact ; and Sir Philip gave him his life, and 
only carried off his sword as a trophy of his victory. 
Both the victor and the vanquished were conveyed to 
Lord Graham’s castle, where the Lord Lovel now lies in 
great danger. He is desirous to settle hi^ worldly affairs^ 
and to make his peace with God and man. Sir Philip 
Harclay says there is a male heir of the house of Lovel,. 
for whom he claims the title and estate ; but he is very- 
desirous that your lordship should be present at the dis- 
posal of your brother’s property that of right belongs to 
him, of which your children are the undoubted heirs. 
He also wants to consult you in many other points of 
honour and equity. Let me entreat you, on the receipt 
of this letter, to set out immediately for Lord Graham’s- 
castle, where you will be received with the utmost respect 
and hospitality. You will hear things that will surpriso 
you as much as they do me. You will judge of them with 
that justice and honour which speak your character ; and 
you will unite with ns in wondering at the way of 
Providence, and submitting to its decrees, in punishing 
the guilty, and doing justice to the innocent and op- 
pressed. 


138 THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 

“ My best wishes and prayers attend you and your 
hopeful family. 

“ My lord, I remain your humble servant, 

“ Clifford.” 

Every one present expressed the highest approbation of 
this letter. Sir Philip gave orders to John Wyatt to be 
very circumspect in his behaviour, to give Edmund’s 
letter privately to father Oswald, and to make no mention 
of him, or his pretensions to Lovel Castle. 

Lord Clifford gave his servant the requisite precautions. 
Lord Graham added a note of invitation, and sent it by a 
servant of his own. As soon as all things were ready, the 
messenger set out with all speed for the castle of Lovel. 

They stayed no longer by the way than to take some 
refreshment, but rode night and day till they arrived 
Ihere. 

Lord Fitz-Owen was in the parlour with his children. 
"Father Oswald was walking in the avenue before the 
Louse, when he saw three messengers, whose horses 
seemed jaded, and the riders fatigued, like men come a 
leng journey : he came up just as the first had delivered 
his message to the porter. John Wyatt knew him ; he 
dismounted, and made signs that he had something to 
say to him ; he retired back a few steps, and John, with 
great dexterity,’ slipped a letter into his hand. The father 
gave him his blessing, and a welcome. “ Whom do you 
come from?” said he aloud. “From the Lords Graham 
and Clifford, to the Lord Fitz-Owen ; and we bring letters 
of consequence to the baron.” 

Oswald followed the messengers into the hall : a servant 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


139 


announced their arrival. Lord Fitz-Owen received them 
in the parlour : Lord Clifford’s servant delivered his 
master’s letter ; Lord Graham’s, his ; and they said they 
would retire and wait his lordship’s answer. The baron 
ordered them some refreshment. They retired, and he 
opened his letters : he read them with great agitation : 
he struck his hand upon his heart ; he exclaimed, My 
fears are all verified 1 the blow is struck, and it has fallen 
upon the guilty.” 

Oswald came in a minute after. “ You are come in 
good time,” said the baron. “ Read that letter, that my 
children may know the contents.” He read it with falter- 
ing voice and trembling limbs. They were all in great 
surprise. William looked down, and kept a studied 
silence. Sir Robert exclaimed, “ Is it possible ! can my 
uncle be guilty of such an action ? ” “ You hear,” said 
the baron, “ he has confessed it.” “ But to whom ? ” said 
Sir Robert. His father replied, “ Lord Clifford’s honour 
is unquestionable, and I cannot doubt what he aflBrms.” 

Sir Robert leaned his head upon his hand, as one lost 
in thought. At length he seemed to awake : ‘‘My lord, I 
have no doubt that Edmund is at the bottom of this 
business. Do you not recollect that Sir Philip Harclay 
long ago promised him his friendship? Edmund dis- 
appears ; and, soon after, this man challenges my uncle. 
You know what passed here before his departure : he has 
suggested this affair to Sir Philip, and instigated him to 
this action. This is the return he has made for the 
favours he has received from our family, to which he 
owes everything.” “ Softly, my son,” said the baron ; 
“let us be cautious of reflecting upon Edmund : there is a 


140 


THE OLD ENGLISH BAEON. 


greater hand in this business. My conjecture 'was too 
true ; it 'was in that fatal apartment that he 'was made 
acquainted with the circumstances of Lord Lovel’s death ; 
he was perhaps enjoined to reveal them to Sir Philip 
Harclay, the bosom friend of the deceased. The mystery 
of that apartment is disclosed, the woe to the guilty is 
accomplished. There is no reflection upon any one. 
Heaven effects its purposes in its own time and manner. 
I and mine are innocent : let us worship and be silent.” 

“ But what do you propose to do ? ” said Sir Robert. 
“ To return with the messenger,” answered the baron. “ I 
think it highly proper that I should see your uncle, and 
hear what he has to say. My children are his heirs : in 
justice to them I ought to be acquainted with everything 
that concerns the disposal of his fortune.” “ Your lord- 
ship is in the right,” answered Sir Robert : “ it concerns 
us all. I have only to ask your permission to bear you 
company.” “ With all my heart,” said the baron. “ I 
have only to ask of you in return, that you will command 
yourself, and not speak your mind hastily : wait for the 
proofs before you give judgment, and take advice of your 
reason before you decide upon anything. If you reflect 
upon the past, you will find reason to distrust yourself. 
Leave all to me, and be assured I will protect your honour 
and my own.” “ I will obej’’ you in all things, my lord ; 
and I will make immediate preparation for our departure.” 
So saying, he left the room. 

As soon as he was gone Mr. William broke silence. 
“ My lord,” said he, “ if you have no great objection, I 
beg leave also to accompany you both.” “ You shall, my 
son, if you desire it ; I think I can see your motives, and 


THE OLD ENGLISH BABON. 


141 


your brother’s also : your coolness will be a good balance 
to his warmth : you shall go with us. My son Walter 
shall be his sister’s protector in our absence, and he shall 
be master here till we return,” “ I hope, my dear father, 
that will not be long ; I shall not be hap\iy till you come 
home,” said the fair Emma. “ It shall be no longer, my 
dearest, than till this untoward affair is settled,” The 
baron desired to know when the messengers were expected 
to return. Oswald took this opportunity to retire ; he 
went to his own apartment, and read the letter as follows j 

“ The heir of Lovel to his dear and reverend friend, 
Father Oswald. 

“ Let my friends at the castle of Lovel know that I live 
in hopes one day to see them there. If you could by any 
means return with the messengers, your testimony would 
add weight to mine ; perhaps you might obtain permission 
to attend the baron ; I leave it to you to manage this. 
John Wyatt will inform you of all that has passed here, 
and that hitherto my success has outrun my expectations, 
and almost my wishes. I am in the high road to my 
inheritance ; and trust that the Power who has conducted 
me thus far, will not leave His work unfinished. Tell my 
beloved William that I live, and hope to embrace him 
before long. I recommend myself to your holy prayers 
and blessing, and remain your son and servant, 

“Edmund.” 

Oswald then went to the messengers ; he drew J ohn 
Wyatt to a distance from the rest, and got the information 
he wanted. He stayed with him till he was sent for by 


142 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


the baron, to whom he went directly, and prevented his 
questions by saying — “ I have been talking with the mes- 
sengers : I find they have travelled night and day to bring 
the letters with all speed ; they only require one night’s 
rest, and will be ready to set out wdth you to-morrow.” 
“ ’Tis well,” said the baron ; “ we will set out as soon as 
they are ready.” “ My lord,” said Oswald, “ I have a 
favour to beg of you ; it is, that I may attend you. I 
have seen the progress of this wonderful discovery, and 
I have a great desire to see the conclusion of it ; perhaps 
my presence may be of service in the course of your 
business.” “ Perhaps it may,” said the baron ; “ I have no 
objection, if you desire to go.” They then separated, 
and went to prepare for their journey.” 

Oswald had a private interview with J oseph, whom he 
informed of all that he knew, and his resolution to attend 
the baron in his journey to the north. “ I go,” said he,, 
“ to bear witness in behalf of injured innocence. If it be 
needful, I shall call upon you ; therefore, hold yourself 
in readiness, in case you should be sent for.” “ That I 
will,” said Joseph, “and spend my last remains of life 
and strength to help my young lord to his right and 
title. But do they not begin to suspect who is the heir 
of Lovel ? ” “ Not in the least,” said Oswald ; “they think 
him concerned in the discovery, but have no idea of hi& 
being interested in the event.” “ Oh, father,” said Joseph,. 
“ I shall think every day a week till your return ; but 
I will no longer keep you from your repose.” “ Good- 
night,” said Oswald ; “ but I have another visit to pay 
before I go to rest.” 

He left Joseph, and went on tip-toe to Mr. William’s 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


143 : 


room, and tapped at his door. He came and opened it. 
“ What news, father? ” “ Not much : I have only orders 

to tell you that Edmund is well, and as much your friend 
as ever.” “ I guessed,” said William, “ that we should 
hear something of him. I have still another guess.” 
“ What is that, my child ? ” “ That we shall see or hear of 
him where we are going.” “It is very likely,” said 
Oswald ; “ and I would have you be prepared for it ; I am 
confident we shall hear nothing to his discredit.” “ I am 
certain of that,” said William, “ and Pshall rejoice to see 
him. I conclude that he is under the protection of Sir 
Philip Harclay.” “ He is so,” said Oswald : “ I have my 
information from Sir Philip’s servant, who is one of the 
messengers, and was guide to ±he others in their way 
hither. After some further conversation they separated, 
and each went to his repose. 

The next morning the whole party set out on their 
journey ; they travelled by easy stages, on account of the 
baron’s health, which began to be impaired, and arrived 
in health and spirits at the castle of Lord Graham, where 
they were received with the utmost respect and kindness 
by the noble master. 

The Lord Lovel had recovered his health and strength 
as much as possible in the time, and was impatient to b© 
gone from thence to his own house. He was surprised to 
hear of the arrival of his brother and nephews, and ex- 
pressed no pleasure at the thoughts of seeing them. Whea 
Sir Philip Harclay came to pay his respects to Baron Fitz- 
Owen, the latter received him with civility, bub with a 
coldness that was apparent. Sir Robert left the room,, 
doubting his resolution. Sir Philip advanced, and took 


144 


THE OLD ENGLISH BAEON. 


the baron by the hand ; “My lord,” said he, “ I rejoice to 
see you here. I cannot be satisfied with the bare civilities 
of such a man as you ; I aspire to your esteem, to your 
friendship ; and I shall not be happy till I obtain them. 
I will make you the judge of every part of my conduct, 
and where you shall condemn me I will condemn myself.” 

The baron was softened ; his noble heart felt its alliance 
with its counterpart, but he thought the situation of his 
Ibrother demanded some reserve towards the man who 
€Ought his life ; but, in spite of himself, it wore off every 
moment. Lord Clifford related all that had passed, with 
due regard to Sir Philip’s honour. He remarked how 
nobly he concealed the cause of his resentment against 
the Lord Lovel till the day of combat, that he might not 
prepossess the judges against him. He enlarged on his 
humanity to the vanquished ; on the desire he expressed 
to have justice done to his heirs ; finally, he mentioned 
his great respect for the Lord Fitz-Owen, and the solicitude 
he showed to have him come to settle the estate of the sick 
man in favour of his children. Lord Clifford also em- 
ployed his son to soften Sir Robert, and to explain to him 
every doubtful part of Sir Philip’s behaviour. 

After the travellers had taken some rest the Lord 
Graham proposed that they should make a visit to the 
jsick man’s chamber. The lords sent to acquaint him they 
were coming to visit him, and they followed the messenger. 
The Lord Fitz-Owen went up to the bed-side ; he embraced 
his brother with strong emotions of concern ; Sir Robert 
followed him ; then Mr. William, Lord Lovel embraced 
them, but said nothing ; his countenance showed his 
inward agitations. Lord Fitz-Owen first broke silence • 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


145 


‘‘ I hope,” said he. “I see my brother better than I ex- 
pected ? ” Lord Lovel bit his fingers, he pulled the bed- 
clothes. he seemed almost distracted. At length he broke 
out : I owe no thanks to those who sent for my relations ! 
Sir Philip Harclay, you have used ungenerously the 
advantage you have gained over me ; you spared my life 
only to take away my reputation ! You have exposed me 
to strangers ; and, what is worse, to my dearest friends. 
When I lay in a state of danger, you obliged me to say 
anything, and now you take advantage of it, to ruin me 
in my friend’s affection ; but, if I recover, you may repent 
it.” 

Sir Philip then came forward : “ My lords, I shall take no 
notice of what this unhappy man has just now said ; I shall 
appeal to you as to the honourable witnesses of all that 
has passed ; you see it was no more than necessary. I 
appeal to you for the motives of my treatment of him, 
before, at, and after our meeting. I did not take his life, 
as I might have done ; I wished him to repent of his sins, 
and to make restitution of what he unjustly possesses. I 
was called out to do an act of justice ; I had taken the 
heir of Lovel under my protection ; my chief view was to 
see justice done to him ; what regarded this man was but 
a secondary motive. This was my end, and I will never, 
never lose sight of it.” 

Lord Lovel seemed almost choked with passion to see 
every one giving some marks of approbation and respect 
to Sir Philip. He called out, “I demand to know who is 
this pretended heir whom he brings out to claim my title 
and fortune 1 ” ‘‘ My noble auditors,” said Sir Philip, “ I 
shall appeal to your judgment in regard to the proofs of 


146 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


my ward’s birth and family ; every circumstance shall be 
laid before you, and you shall decide upon them. 

“ Here is a young man, supposed the son of a peasant, 
who, by a train of circumstances that could not have 
happened by human contrivances, discovers not only who 
were his real parents, but that they came to untimely 
deaths. He even discovers the different places where their 
bones are buried, both out of consecrated ground, and 
appeals to their ashes for the truth of his pretensions. He 
has also living proofs to offer, that will convince the most 
incredulous. I have deferred entering into particulars till 
the arrival of Baron Fitz-Owen ; I know his noble heart 
and honourable character from one that has been an eye- 
witness of his goodness. Such is the opinion I have of 
liis justice, that I will accept him as one of the judg-es in 
liis brother’s cause. I and my ward will bring our proofs 
before him, and the company here present. In the course 
of -yiem, it will appear that he is the best qualified of any 
to judge of them, because he can ascertain many of the 
facts we shall have occasion to mention. I will rest our 
cause upon their decision. 

Lord Graham applauded Sir Philip’s appeal, afi&rming 
his own impartiality, and calling upon Lord Clifford and 
his son, and also his own nephews, who were present. 
Lord Clifford said, “ Sir Philip offers fairly, and like him- 
self ; there can be no place nor persons more impartial 
than the present, and I presume the Lord Lovel can have 
no objection.” “JSTo objection 1” answered he; “what, 
to be tried like a criminal ; to have judges appointed over 
me, to decide upon my right, to my own estate and title ? 
I will not submit to such a jurisdiction 1 ” “ Then,” said 


THE OLD ENGLISH BAKON. 


147 


Sir Philip, “ you had rather be tried by the laws of the 
land, and have them pronounce sentence upon you 1 Take 
your choice, sir ; if you refuse the one, you shall be cer- 
tain of the other,” Lord Clifford then said, “ You will 
allow Lord Lovel to consider of the proposal ; he will 
consult his friends, and be determined by their advice.” 
Lord Fitz-Owen said, “ I am very much surprised at what 
I have heard. I shall be glad to know all that Sir Philip 
Harclay has to say for his ward, that I may judge what 
my brother has to hope or fear ; I will then give my best 
advice, or offer my mediation, as he may stand in need of 
them.” “ You say well,” replied Lord Graham ; “ and 
pray let us come directly to the point. Sir Philip, you 
will introduce your ward to this company, and enter upon 
your proofs.” 

Sir Philip bowed to the company. He went out and 
brought in Edmund, encouraging him by the way. He 
presented him to Baron Fitz-Owen^ who lookejjl very 
serious. “Edmund Twyford,” said he, “are you the heir 
of the house of Lovel ? ” “I am, my lord,” said Edmund, 
bowing to the ground ; “ the proofs will appear ; but I 
am, at the same time, the most humble and grateful of 
all your servants, and the servant of your virtues.” Sir 
Robert rose up, and was going to leave the room. “ Son 
Robert, stay,” said the baron ; “ if there is any fraud, j^ou 
will be pleased to detect it ; and if all that is affirmed be 
true, you will not shut your eyes against the light. You 
are concerned in this business ; hear it in silence, and let 
reason be arbiter in your cause.” He bowed to his father, 
bit his lip, and retired to the window. William nodded to 
Edmund, and was silent. All the company had their eyes 


U8 


THE OLD ENGLISH BAKON. 


fixed on the young man, who stood in the midst, casting 
down his eyes with modest respect to the audience ; while 
Sir Philip related all the material circumstances of his 
life, the wonderful gradation by which he came to the 
knowledge of his birth, the adventures of the haunted 
apartment, the discovery of the fatal closet, and the pre- 
sumptive proofs that Lord Lovel was buried there. At 
this pai’t of his narration Lord Fitz-Owen interrupted 
him : " Where is this closet you talk of ? for I and my 
sons went over the apartment since Edmund’s departure, 
and found no such place as you describe.” “ My lord,” 
said Edmund, “ I can account for it ; the door is covered 
with tapestry, the same as the room, and you might easily 
overlook it ; but I have a witness here,” said he ; and 
putting his hand into his bosom, he drew out the key. 

If this is not the key of that closet let me be deemed an 
impostor, and all I say a falsehood ! I will risk my pre- 
tensions upon this proof.” 

“ And for what purpose did you take it away ? ” said 
the baron. To prevent any person from going into it,” re- 
plied Edmund ; “ I have vowed to keep ib till I shall open 
that closet before witnesses appointed for that purpose.” 
‘ ‘ Proceed, sir,” said the Baron Fitz-Owen. Sir Philip 
then related the conversation between Edmund and Mar- 
gery Twyford, his supposed mother. Lord Fitz-Owen 
seemed in the utmost surprise ; he exclaimed, Can this 
be true ? strange discovery ! unfortunate child ! ” Edmund’s 
tears bore witness to his veracity : he was obliged to hide 
his face ; he lifted up his clasped hands to heaven, and 
was in great emotion during all this part of the relation ; 
while Lord Lovel groaned, and seemed in great agitation. 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


149 


Sir Philip then addressed himself to Lord Fitz-Owen. 
“ My lord, there was another person present at the conver- 
sation between Edmund and his foster-mother, who can. 
witness to all that passed ; perhaps your lordship can teii 
who that was ? ” “ It was father Oswald,” replied the 
baron ; “ I well remember that he went with him at his 
request ; let him be called in.” He was sent for, and 
came immediately. The baron desired him to relate all 
that passed between Edmund and his mother. 

Oswald then began : “ Since I am now properly called 
upon to testify what I know concerning this young man, 
I will speak the truth, without fear or favour of any one ; 
and I will , swear by the rules of my holy order, to the 
truth of what I shall relate.” He then gave a particular 
account of all that passed on that occasion, and mentioned 
the tokens found on both the infant and his mother. 
“ AVhere are these tokens to be seen ? ” said the Lord 
Clifford. “ I have them here, my lord,” said Edmund, 
“ and I keep them as my greatest treasures.” He then 
produced them before all the company. “ There i^ no 
appearance of any fraud or collusion,” said Lord Graham ; 
“ if any man thinks he sees any let him speak.” “ Pray, 
my lord, suffer me to speak a word,” said Sir Robert. Do 
you remember that I hinted my suspicions concerning 
father Oswald the night our kinsmen lay in the east 
apartment?” ‘'T do,” said the baron. “ Well, sir, now it 
appears that he did know more than he would tell us ; 
you find he is very deep in all Edmund’s secrets, and 
you judge what were his motives for undertaking this 
journey.” “ I observe what you say,” answered his. 
fatlier, “ but let us hear all that Oswald has to say ; I 


x’HE OLD EJ^GLISH BAEON, 


> impartial as possible.” “ My lord,” returned 
, “ I beg you also to recollect wbat I said on the 
j your son speaks of concerning secrecy in certain 
.tters.” “ I remember that also,” said the baron ; “ but 
proceed.” “My lord,” continued Oswald, “I knew more 
than I thought myself at liberty to disclose at that time ; 
but I will now tell you everything. I saw there was 
something more than common in the accidents that befel 
this young man, and his being called out to sleep in the 
east department ; I earnestly desired him to let me be 
with him on the second night, to which he consented 
reluctantly ; we heard a great noise in the rooms under- 
neath ; we went down-stairs together ; I saw him open 
the fatal closet ; I heard groans that pierced me to the 
heart ; I kneeled down and prayed for the repose of the 
spirit departed ; I found a seal with the arms of Level 
engraven upon it, which I gave to Edmund, and he now 
has it in his possession. He enjoined me to keep secret 
what I had seen and heard, till the time should come to 
declare it. I conceived that I was called to be a witness 
of these things ; besides, my curiosity was excited to know 
the event ; I therefore desired to be present at the inter- 
view between him and his mother, which was affecting 
and beyond expression ; I heard what I have now declared 
as nearly as my memory permits me. I hope no impartial 
person will blame me for any part of my conduct ; but if 
they should, I do not repent it. If I should forfeit the 
favour of the rich and great, I shall have acquitted myself 
to God and my conscience. I have no worldly ends to 
answer ; I plead the cause of the injured orphan ; and 
I think, also, that I' second the designs of Providence.” 


THE OLD ENGLISH BAEON. 


** You have well spoken, father,” said the Lord Clifford ; 
“ your testimony is indeed of consequence.” 

“ It is amazing and convincing,” said Lord Graham ; 
and the whole story is so well connected that I can see 
nothing to make us doubt the truth of it ; but let us 
examine the proofs.” Edmund gave into their hands the 
necklace and earrings ; he showed them the locket, with 
the cipher of Lovel, and the seal with the arms ; he told 
them the cloak in which he was wrapped up in the 
custody of his foster-mother, who would produce it on 
demand. He begged that some proper person might be 
commissioned to go with him to examine whether or no 
the bodies of his parents were buried where he affirmed ; 
adding that he put his pretensions into their hands with 
pleasure, relying entirely upon their honour and justice. 
During this interesting scene the criminal covered his 
face, and was silent, but he sent forth bitter 'sighs and 
groans that denoted the anguish of his heart. At length 
Lord Graham, in compassion to him, proposed that they 
■should retire and consider of the proofs, adding, “ Lord 
Lovel must needs be fatigued ; we will resume the subject 
in his presence, when he is disposed to receive us. ’ Sir 
Philip Barclay approached the bed. “ Sir,” said he, “ I 
now leave you in the hands of your own relations ; they 
are men of strict honour, and I confide in them to take 
•care of you, and of your concerns.” They then went out 
of the room, leaving only the Lord Fitz-Owen and his 
sons with the criminal. They discoursed of the w'on- 
derf ul story of Edmund’s birth, and the principal events 
of his life. 

A.fter dinner Sir Philip requested another conference 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


/vitli the lords and their principal friends. There were 
present also Father Oswald and Lord Graham’s confessor^ 
who had taken the Lord Lovel’s confession, Edmund and 
Zadisky. “Now, g'entlemen,” said Sir Philip, “ I desire 
to know your opinion of our proofs, and your advice upon 
them.” 

Lord Graham replied : “ I am desired to speak for the 
rest ; we think there are strong presumptive proofs that 
this young man is the true heir of Lovel ; hut they ought 
to be confirmed and authenticated. Of the murder of the 
late lord there is no doubt ; the criminal hath confessed 
it, and the circumstances confirm it ; the proofs of his 
crime are so connected with those of the young man’s 
birth, that one cannot be public without the other. We 
are desirous to do justice ; and yet are unwilling, for the 
Lord Fitz-Owen’s sake, to bring the criminal to public 
shame and punishment. We wish to find out a medium ; 
we therefore desire Sir Philip to make proposals for his 
ward, and let Lord Fitz-Owen answer for himself and his , 
brother, and we will be moderators between them.” Here 
every one expressed approbation, and called upon Sir 
Philip to make his demands. 

“ If,” said he, “ I were to demand strict justice, I should 
not be satisfied with anything less than the life of the 
criminal ; but I am a Christian soldier, the disciple of 
Him who came into the world to save sinners ; for His 
sake,” continued he (crossing himself), “ I forego my 
revenge, I spare the guilty ; if Heaven gives him time for 
repentance, man should not deny it. It is my ward’s 
particular request that I will not bring shame upon the 
house of his benefactor, the Lord Fitz-Owen, for whom he 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


153 


hath a filial affection and profound veneration. My 
proposals are these : First, that the criminal make resti- 
tution of the title and estate, obtained with so much 
injustice and cruelty, to the lawful heir, whom he shall 
acknowledge such before proper witnesses. Secondly, 
that he shall surrender his own lawful inheritance and 
personal estate into the hands of the Lord Fitz-Owen, in 
trust for his sons, who are his heirs of blood. Thirdly, 
that he shall retire into a religious house, or else quit the 
kingdom, in three months’ time ; and, in either case, 
those who enjoy his fortune shall allow him a decent 
annuity, that he may not want the comforts of life. By 
the last, I disable him from the means of doing further 
mischief, and enable him to devote the remainder of his 
days in penitence. These are my proposals, and I give 
him four-and-twenty hours to consider of them ; if he 
refuses to comply with them, I shall be obliged to pro- 
ceed to severer measures, and to a public prosecution ; 
but the goodness of the Lord Fitz-Owen bids me expect, 
from his influence with his brother, a compliance with 
proposals made out of respect to his honourable character.” 

Lord Graham applauded the humanity, prudence, and 
piety of Sir Philip’s proposals. He enforced them with 
all his influence and eloquence. Lord Clifford seconded 
him ; and the rest gave tokens of approbation. Sir Robert 
Fitz-Owen then rose up : “I beg leave to observe to the 
company, who are going to dispose so generously of 
another man’s property, that my father purchased the 
castle and estate of the house of Lovel : who is to repay 
him the money for that 1 ” 

Sir Philip then said, “ I have also a question to ask : 


154 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


•who is to pay the arrears of my ward’s estate, which he 
has nn justly been kept out of these one-and-twenty years ? 
let Lord Clifford answer to both points, for he is not in- 
■terested in either.” Lord Clifford smiled ; “ I think,” re- 
turned he, “ the first question is answered by the second^ 
and that the jDarties concerned should set one against the 
other, especially as Lord-Fitz Owen’s children will inherit 
the fortune, which includes the purchase-money.” Lord 
Graham said, “ This determination is both equitable and 
generous, and I hope will answer the expectations on all 
sides. “ I have another proposal to make to my Lord 
Fitz-Owen,” said Sir Philip ; “ but I first wait for the- 
acceptance of those already made.” Lord Fitz-Owen 
replied, “ I shall report them to my brother, and acquaint 
the company with his resolution to-morrow.” 

The)’ then separated ; and the baron, with his sons, re- 
turned to the sick man’s chamber. There he exhorted his 
brother, with the piety of a confessor, to repent of his 
sins, and make atonement for them. He made known Sir 
Philip’s proposals, and observed on the wonderful discovery 
of his crime, and the punishment that followed it. “ Your 
repentance,” continued he, “ may be accepted, and youi 
crime may yet be pardoned ; if you continue refractory, 
and refuse to make atonement, you will draw down upon 
you a severer punishment.” The criminal would not con- 
fess, and yet could not deny, the truth and justice of his 
observations. The baron spent several hours in his brother’s 
chamber ; he sent for a priest, who took his confession ; 
and they both sat up with him all night, advising, per- 
suading, and exhorting him to do justice, and to comply 
with the proposals. He was unwilling to give up the 


THE OLD ENGLISH BAEON. 


155 


world, and yet more so to become the object of public 
shame, disgrace, and punishment. 

The next day Lord Fitz-Owen summoned the company 
inio his brother’s chamber, and there declared, in his 
name, that he accepted Sir Philip Harclay’s proposals ; 
that if the young man could, as he promised, direct them 
to the places where his parents were buried, and if his 
birth should be authenticated by his foster-parents, he 
should be acknowledged the vheir of the house of Lovel. 
That, to be certified of these things, they must commission 
proper persons to go with him for this purpose ; and, in 
case the truth should be made plain, they should imme- 
diately put him in possession of the castle and estate, in the 
state it was. He desired Lord Graham and Lord Clifford 
to choose the commissioners, and gave Sir Philip and 
Edmund a right to add to them, each, another person. 

Lord Graham named the eldest son of Lord Clifford : 
and the other, in return, named his nephew ; they also 
chose the priest. Lord Graham’s confessor, and the eldest 
son of Baron Fitz-Owen, to his great mortification. Sir 
Philip appointed Mr. William Fitz-Owen, and Edmund 
named father Oswald ; they chose out the servants to 
attend them, who were also to be witnesses of all that 
should pass. Lord Clifford proposed to Baron Fitz-Owen, 
that as soon as the commissioners were set out, the re- 
mainder of the cgmpany should adjourn to his seat in 
Cumberland, whither Lord Graham should be invited to 
accompany them, and to stay till this affair was decided. 
After some debate this was agreed to ; and, at the same 
time, that the criminal should be kept with them till 
everything was properly settled. 


156 THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 

Lord Fitz-Owen gave his son William the charge to re- 
ceive and entertain the commissioners at the castle ; but, 
before they set out, Sir Philip had a conference with Lord 
Fitz-Owen, concerning the surrender of the castle, ^in 
which he insisted on the furniture and stock of the farm 
in consideration of the arrears. Lord Fitz-Owen slightly 
mentioned the young man’s education and expenses. Sir 
Philip answered, “ You are right, my lord : I had not 
thought of this point ; we owe you, in this respect, more 
than we can ever repay ; but you know not half the 
respect and alfection Edmund bears for you. When 
restitution of his title and fortune is fully made, his 
happiness will still depend on you.” “ How on me ? ” 
said the baron. “ Why, he will not be happy unless you 
honour him with your notice and esteem. But this is not 
all : I must hope that you will still do more for him.” 
“ Indeed,” said the baron, “ he has put my regard for him 
to a severe proof ; what further can he expect from me?” 

My dear lord, be not offended, I have only one more 
proposal to make to you ; if you refuse it, I can allow 
for you ; and I confess it requires a greatness of mind, 
but not more than you possess, to grant it.” “ Well, sir, 
speak your demand.” “ Say rather, my request ; it is 
this : Cease to look upon Edmund as the enemy of your 
house ; look upon him as a son, and make him so indeed.” 

How say you. Sir Philip ? my son ! ” “ Yes, my lord, 

give him your daughter ; he is already your son in filial 
affection ; your son William and he are sworn brothers ; 
what remains but to make him yours ? He deserves such 
a parent, you such a son ; and you will, by this means, 
ingraft into your family the name, title, and estate of 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


157 


Level, which will be entailed on your posterity for ever.’» 
“This offer requires much consideration,” returned the 
baron. “ Suffer me to suggest some hints to you,” said 
Sir Philip. “ This match is, I think, verily pointed out 
by Providence, which hath conducted the dear boy through 
so many dangers, and brought him within view of his 
happiness. Look on him as the precious relic of a noble 
house, the son of my dearest friend ! or look on him as 
my son and heir, and let me, as his father, implore you 
to consent to his marriage with your daughter.” The 
baron’s heart was touched ; he turned away his face. 
“ Oh, Sir Philip Harclay, what a friend are you ! "Why 
should such a man be our enemy ? ” “My lord,” said Sir 
Philip, “ we are not, cannot be enemies ; our hearts are 
already allied ; and I am certain we shall one day be 
dear friends.” The baron suppressed his emotions, but 
Sir Philip saw into his heart. “ I must consult my 
eldest son,” returned he. “ Then,” replied Sir Philip, “ I 
foresee much difficulty ; he is prejudiced against Edmund, 
and thinks the restitution of his inheritance an in j ury to 
your family. Hereafter he will see this alliance in a 
different light, and will rejoice that such a brother is 
added to the family ; but, at present, he will set his face 
against it. However, we will not despair ; virtue and 
resolution will surmount all obstacles. Let me call in. 
young Lovel.” 

He brought Edmund to the baron, and acquainted him 
with the proposal he had been making in his name, my 
lord’s answers, and the objections he feared on the part 
of Sir Robert. Edmund kneeled to the baron ; he took 
his hand and pressed it to his lips. “ Best of men !’ of 


158 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


parents ! of patrons ! ” said lie, “I will ever be your son 
in filial affection, whether I have the honour to be legally 
so or not ; not one of your own children can feel a stronger 
sense of love and duty.” “ Tell me,” said the baron, “ do 
you love my daughter ? ” “I do, my lord, with the most 
ardent affection ; I never loved any woman but her ; and, 
if I am so unfortunate as to be refused her, I will not 
marry at all. Oh, my lord, reject not my honest suit ! 
Your alliance will give me consequence with myself : it 
will excite me to act worthy of the station to which I am 
exalted ; if you refuse me, I shall seem an abject wretch, 
disdained by those whom my heart claims relation to : 
your family are the whole world to me. Give me your 
lovely daughter ; give me also your son, my beloved 
William ; and let me share with them the fortune 
Providence bestows upon me ; but what is title or 
fortune, if I am deprived of the society of those I 
love ! ” 

“ Edmund,” said the baron, “ you have a noble friend ; 
but you have a stronger in my heart, which, I think, was 
implanted there by Heaven to aid its own purposes ; I 
feel a variety of emotions of different kinds, and am afraid 
to trust my own heart with you. But answer me a 
question — Are you assured of my daughter’s consent ? 
Have you solicited her favour ? Have you gained her 
affections ? ” “ Never, my lord ! I am incapable of so 
base an action. I have loved her at an humble distance ; 
but, in my situation, I should have thought it a violation 
of the laws of gratitude and hospitality to have presumed 
to speak the sentiments of my heart.” “ Then you have 
acted with unquestionable honour on this, and, I must 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


159 


say, on all other occasions.” “ Your approbation, my 
lord, is the first wish of my life ; it is the seal of my 
honour and happiness.” 

Sir Philip smiled ; “ My Lord Fitz-Owen, I am jealous 
of Edmund’s preferable regard for you ; it is just the 
same now as formerly.” Edmund came to Sir Philip ; he 
threw himself into his arms, he wept, he was overpowered 
with the feelings of his heart ; he prayed to Heaven to 
strengthen his mind to support his inexpressible sensa- 
tions. “ I am overwhelmed with obligation ! ” said he ; 
“oh, best of friends, teach me, like you, to make my 
actions speak for me ! ” “ Enough, Edmund, I know 

your heart, and that is my security. My lord, speak to 
him, and bring him to himself, by behaving coldly to 
him, if you can.” The baron said, “ I must not trust 
myself with you, you make a child of me ! I will only 
add, gain my son Robert’s favour, and be assured of 
mine : I owe some respect to the heir of my family ; he 
is brave, honest, and sincere ; your enemies are separated 
from him, you have William’s influence in your behalf ; 
make one effort, and let me know the result.” Edmund 
kissed his hand in transports of joy and gratitude. “ I 
will not lose a moment,” said he ; “ I fly to obey your 
commands.” 

Edmund went immediately to his friend William, and 
related all that had passed between the baron. Sir Philip, 
and himself. William promised him his interest in the 
warmest manner ; he recapitulated all that had passed in 
the castle since his departure ; but he guarded his sister’s 
delicacy, till it should be resolved to give way to his 
address. They both consulted young Clifford, who had 


160 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


conceived an affection to Edmund for his amiable quali- 
ties. and to William for his generous friendship for him. 
He promised them his assistance, as Sir Robert seemed 
desirous to cultivate his friendship. Accordingly they 
both attacked him with the whole artillery of friendship 
and persuasion. Clifford urged the merits of Edmund^ 
and the advantages of his alliance.. William enforced his 
arguments by a retrospect of Edmund’s past life ; and 
observed, that every obstacle thrown in his way had 
brought his enemies to shame, lind increase of honour to 
himself. “I say nothing,” continued he, “of his noble 
qualities and affectionate heart ; those who have been so 
many years his companions can want no proofs of it.” 
“We know your attachment to him, sir,” said Sir Robert, 
“ and, in consequence, your partiality.” “ Xay,” replied 
William, “you are sensible of the truth of my assertions ; 
and I am confident would have loved him yourself, but 
for the insinuations of his enemies : but if he should 
make good his assertions, even you must be convinced of 
his veracity.” “And you would have your father give 
him your sister upon this uncertainty 1 ” “ Xo, sir, but 

upon these conditions.” “ But suppose he does not make 
them good ? ” “ Then I will be of your party, and give 

up his interest.” “Very well, sir ; my father may do as 
he pleases ; but I cannot agree to give my sister to one 
who has always stood in the way of our family, and now 
turns us out of our own house.” 

“I am sorry, brother, you see his pretensions in so 
wrong a light ; but if you think there is any imposture 
in the case, go with us, and be a witness of all that 
passes.” “No, not I ; if Edmund is to be master of the 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


161 


castle, I will never more set my foot in it.” “This 
matter,” said Mr. Clifford, “ must be left to time, which 
has brought strange things to pass. Sir Robert’s honour 
and good sense will enable him to subdue his prejudices, 
and judge partially.” They took leave, and went to make 
preparations for their journey. Edmund made his report 
of Sir Robert’s inflexibility to his father, in presence of 
Sir Philip, w-^ho again ventured to urge the baron on his 
favourite subject. “ It becomes me to wait for the 
further proofs,” said he ; “ but if they are as clear as I 
expect, I will not be inexorable to your wishes ; say 
nothing more on this subject till the return of the com- 
missioners.” They were profuse in the acknowledgments 
of his goodness. 

Edmund took a tender leave of his two paternal 
friends : “When,” said he, “I take possession of my in- 
heritance, I must hope for the company of you both to 
complete my happiness.” “Of me,” said Sir Philip, 
“ you may be certain ; and, as far as my influence reaches, 
of the baron.” He was silent. Edmund assured them of 
his constant prayers for their happiness.' 

Soon after the commissioners, with Edmund, set out 
for Lovel Castle ; and the following day the Lord Clifford 
set out for his own house with Baron Fitz-Owen and his 
son. The nominal baron was carried with them, very 
much against his will. Sir Philip Harclay was invited 
to go with them by Lord Clifford, who declared his 
presence necessary to bring things to a conclusion. They 
all joined in acknowledging their obligations to Lord 
Graham’s generous hospitality, and besought him to 
accompany them ; at length he consented, on condition 


162 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


they would allow him to go to and fro, as his duty should 
call him. 

Lord Clifford received them with the greatest hospi- 
tality, and presented them to his lady and three 
daughters, who were in the bloom of youth and beauty. 
They spent their time very pleasantly, excepting the 
criminal, who continued gloomy and reserved, and de- 
clined company. 

In the meantime the commissioners proceeded on their 
journey. When they were within a day’s distance from 
the castle Mr. William and his servant put forward, and 
arrived several hours before the rest, to make prepara- 
tions for their reception. His sister and brother received 
him with open arms, and inquired eagerly after the event 
of the journey to the North. He gave them a brief 
account of everything that had happened to their uncle ; 
adding, “But this is not all. Sir Philip Harclay has 
brought a young man, whom he pretends is the son of 
the late Lord Lovel, and claims his estate and title. This 
person is on his journey hither, with several others, who 
are commissioned to inquire into certain particulars, to 
confirm his pretensions ; if he make good his claim, my. 
father will surrender the castle and estate into his hand. 
Sir Philip and my lord have many points to settle ; and 
he has proposed a compromise, that you, my sister, ought 
to know, because it nearly concerns you.” “ Me I brother 
William ? pray explain yourself.” “ Why, he proposes 
that, in lieu of arrears and other expectations, my father 
shall give his dear Emma to the heir of Lovel, in full of 
all demands.” She changed colour. “ Holy Mary ! ” said 
she ; “ and does my father agree to his proposal ? ” “ He 


THE OLD ENGLISH BAEON. 


163 


is not very averse to it : but Sir Robert refuses his con- 
sent. However, I have given him my interest with you.” 
“ Have you, indeed ? What I a stranger, perhaps an im- 
postor, who comes to turn us out of our dwelling ! ” 

Have patience, my Emma. See this young man without 
prejudice, and perhaps you will like him as well as I do.” 
“ I am surprised at you, William ! ” “ Dear Emma, I 
cannot bear to see you uneasy. Think of the man who, 
of all others, you would wish to see in a situation to ask 
you of your father, and expect to see your wishes realised.” 
“ Impossible ! ” said she. “ Nothing is impossible, 
my dear ; let us be prudent, and all will end happily. 
You must help me to receive and entertain these commis- 
sioners. I expect a very solemn scene ; but when that is 
once got over, happier hours than the past will succeed. 
We shall first visit the haunted apartment ; you, my 
sister, will keep in your own till I shall send for you. I 
go now to give orders to the servants.” He went, and 
ordered them to be in waiting : and himself, and his 
youngest brother, stood in readiness to receive them. 

The sound of the horn announced the arrival of the 
oommissioners ; at the same instant a sudden gust of wind 
arose, and the outward gates blew open. They entered 
the court-yard, and the great folding-doors into the hall 
were opened without any assistance. The moment Ed- 
mund entered the hall, every door in the house flew open ; 
the servants rushed into the hall, and fear was written on 
their countenances. Joseph only was undaunted. “ These 
doors,” said he, “ open of their own accord to receive their 
master ! this is he indeed ! ” Edmund was soon apprised 
of what had happened. “ I accept the omen ! ” said he. 


164 THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 

“ Gentlemen, let us g-o forward to the apartment I let us 
finish the work of fate ! I will lead the way.” He went 
on to the apartment, followed by all present. “ Open the 
shutters,” said he : “ the daylight shall no longer be ex- 
cluded here ; the deeds of darkness shall now be brought 
to light.” 

They descended the staircase ; every door was open till 
they came to the fatal closet. Edmund called to Mr. 
William. “ Approach, my friend, and behold the door 
3'our family overlooked ! ” They came forward. He drew 
the key out of his bosom, and unlocked the door ; he 
made them observe that the boards were all loose ; he 
then called to the servants, and bade them remove every- 
thing out of the closet. While they were doing this Ed- 
mund showed them the breastplate all stained with 
blood. He then called to Joseph : “ Do you know whose 
was this suit of armour ? ” “It was my lord’s,” said 
Joseph; “the late Lord Lovel ; I have seen him wear 
it.” 

Edmund bade them Bring shovels and remove the 
earth. While they were gone he desired Oswald to re- 
peat all that passed the night they sat up together in. 
that apartment, which he did till the servants returned. 
They threw out the earth while the bystanders in solemn 
silence waited the event. After some time and labour 
they struck against something. They proceeded till they 
discovered a large trunk, which, with great difficulty, 
they drew out. It had been corded round, but the cords 
were rotted to dust. They opened it, and found a skele- 
ton, which appeared to have been tied neck and heels 
together, and forced into the trunk. “ Behold,” said 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


16 ? 


Edmund, “the bones of him to whom I owe my birth 1” 
The priest from Lord GTraham advanced. “ This is un- 
doubtedly the body of Lord Lovel : I heard his kinsman 
confess the manner in which he was interred. Let this 
awful spectacle be a lesson to all present, that, though 
wickedness may triumph for a season, a day of retribution 
will come ! ” Oswald exclaimed, “ Behold the day of re- 
tribution I of triumph to the innocent, of shame and con- 
fusion to the wicked.” 

The young gentlemen declared that Edmund had made 
good his assertions ; “ what then,” said they, “ remains ? ” 
“ I propose,” said Lord Graham’s priest, “ that an account 
be written of this discover}^, and signed by all the wit- 
nesses present ; that an attested copy be left in the hands 
of this gentleman, and the original be sent to the barons 
and Sir Philip Harclay, to convince them of the truth of 
it.” 

Mr. Clifford then desired Edmund to proceed in his own 
way. “ The first thing I propose to do,” said he, “ is to 
have a coffin made for these honoured remains ; I trust to 
find the bones of my other parent, and to inter them to- 
gether in consecrated ground. Unfortunate pair ! you 
shall at last rest together ! your son shall pay the last 
duties to your ashes ! ” He stopped to shed tears, and 
none were present but paid this tribute to their misfor- 
tunes. Edmund recovered his voice and proceeded : “ My 
next request is, that Father Oswald and this reverend 
father, with whomsever else the gentlemen shall appoint, 
will send for Andrew and Margery Twyford, and examine 
them concerning the circumstances of my birth, and the 
death and burial of my unfortunate mother.” It shall 


.O'U' 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


oe done,” said Mr. William ; “but first let me entreat you 
to come witb me and take some refreshment after your 
journey, for you must be fatigued ; after dinner we will 
proceed with the inquiry.” 

They all followed him into the great hall, where they 
were entertained with great hospitality, and Mr. William 
did the honours in his father’s name. Edmund’s heart 
was deeply affected, and the solemnity of his deportment 
bore witness to his sincerity ; but it was a manly sorrow, 
that did not make him neglect his duty to his friends or 
himself. He inquired after the health of the Lady Emma. 
“ She is well,” said William, “ and as much your friend as 
ever.” Edmund bowed in silence. 

After dinner the commissioners sent for Andrew and 
his wife. They examined them separately, and found 
their accounts agreed together, and were in substance the 
same as Oswald and Edmund had before related, sepa- 
rately also. The commissioners observed, that there could 
be no collusion between them, and that the proofs were 
indisputable. They kept the foster-parents all night ; 
and the next day Andrew directed them to the place 
where the Lady Lovel was buried, between two trees, 
which he had marked for a memorial. They collected 
the bones and carried them to the castle, where Edmund 
caused a stately coffin to be made for the remains of the 
unfortunate pair. The two priests obtained leave to look 
into the coffin buried in the church, and found nothing 
but stones and earth in it. The commissioners then de- 
clared they were fully satisfied of the reality of Edmund’s 
pretensions. 

The two priests were employed in drawing up a oir- 


THE OLD ENGLISH BAEON. 


167 


cumstantial account of these discoveries, in order to 
make their report to the barons at their return. In the 
meantime, Mr, William took an opportunity to introduce 
Edmund to his sister. “My Emma,” said he, “the he’r 
of Lovel is desirous to pay his respects to you.” They 
were both in apparent confusion ; but Edmund’s wore 
off, and Emma’s increased. “ I have been, long desirous,” 
said he, “ to pay my respects to the lady whom I most 
honour, but unavoidable duties have detained me ; when 
these are fully paid, it is my wish to devote the remainder 
of my life to Lady Emma ! ” “ Are you, then, the heir of 

Lovel?” “I am, madam; and I am also the man in 
whose behalf I once presumed to speak.” “ ’Tis very 
strange indeed ! ” “ It is so, madam, to myself ; but 

time, that reconciles us to all things, will, I hope, render 
this change in my situation familiar to you.” William 
then said, “ You are both well acquainted with the wishes 
of my heart ; but my advice is, that you do not encourage 
a farther intimacy till my lord’s determination be fully 
known.” “ You may dispose of me as you please,” said 
Edmund ; “ but I cannot help declaring my wishes : yet 
I will submit to my lord’s sentence, though he should 
doom me to despair.” 

From this period the young pair behaved with solemn 
respect to each other, but with apparent reserve. The 
young lady sometimes appeared in company, but oftener 
clior#3 to be in her own apartment, where she began to 
believe and hope for the completion of her wishes. The 
uncertainty of the baron’s 'determination threw an air of 
anxiety over Edmund’s features ; his friend William, by 
the most tender care and attention, strove to dispel hia 


168 


THE OLD ENGLISH BAEON. 


fears, and encourage his hopes ; but he waited with impa- 
tience for the return of the commissioners, and the deci- 
sion of his fate. 

While these things passed at the castle of Lovel the 
nominal baron recovered his health and strength at the 
house of Lord Clifford. In the same proportion he grew 
more and more shy and reserved, avoided the company of 
his brother and nephew, and was frequently shut up with 
his two servants. Sir Robert Fitz-Owen made several at- 
tempts to gain his confidence, but in vain : he was equally 
shy to him as the rest. M. Zadisky observed his motions 
with the penetration for which his countrymen have 
been distinguished in all ages. He communicated his 
suspicions to Sir Philip and the barons, giving it as his 
opinion that the criminal was meditating an escape. They 
asked what he thought was to be done. Zadisky offered 
to watch him in turn with another person, and to lie in 
wait for him ; he also proposed that horses should be 
kept in readiness, and men to mount them, without 
knowledge of the service they were to be employed in. 
The barons agreed to leave the whole management of this 
affair to Zadisky. He took his measures so well that he 
intercepted the three fugitives in the fields adjoining 
to the house, and brought them all back prisoners. They 
oonfined them separately, while the lords and gentlemen 
consulted how to dispose of them. 

Sir Philip applied to Lord Fitz-Owen, who begged 
leave to be silent. “ I have nothing,” said he, “ to offer 
in favour of this bad man ; and I cannot propose harsher 
measures with so near a relation.” Zadisky then begged 
to be heard, “ You can no longer have any reliance upon 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


16 » 


the word of a man who has forfeited all pretensions to 
honour and sincerity. I have long wished to revisit once 
more my native country, and to inquire after some very 
dear friends I left there. I will undertake to convey this 
man to a very distant part of the world, where it will be 
out of his power to do further mischief, and free his re- 
lations from an ungrateful charge, unless you should 
rather choose to bring him to punishment here.” Lord 
Clifford approved of the proposal ; Lord Fitz-Ow'en re- 
mained silent, but showed no marks of disapprobation. 

Sir Philip objected to parting with his friend ; but 
Zadisky assured him he had particular reasons for return- 
ing to the Holy Land, of which he should be judge here- 
after. Sir Philip desired the Lord Fitz-Owen to give him 
his company to the criminal’s apartment, saying, “ We- 
will have one more conversation with him, and that shall 
decide his fate.” They found him silent and sullen, and 
he refused to answer their questions. Sir Philip then 
bespoke him. “ After the proofs you have given of your 
falsehood and insincerity, we can no longer have any re- 
liance upon you, nor faith in your fulfilling the conditions 
of our agreement : I will therefore once more make you 
a proposal that shall still leave you indebted to our 
clemency. You shall banish yourself from England for 
ever, and go in pilgrimage to the Holy Land, with such 
companions as we shall appoint ; or, secondly, you shall 
enter directly into a monastery, and there be shut up for 
life ; or, thirdly, if you refuse both these oflrers, I will go 
directly to court, throw myself at the feet of my sove- 
reign, relate the whole story of your wicked life and 
actions, and demand vengeance on your head. The kinjf 


170 


THK OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


is too good and pious to let such, villainy go unpunished ; 
he will bring you to public shame and punishment ; and 
be you assured, if I begin this prosecution, I will pursue 
it to the utmost. I appeal to your worthy brother for the 
justice of my proceeding, I reason no more with you, I 
only declare my resolution. I wait your answer one 
hour, and the next I put in execution whatever you shall 
oblige me to determine.” So saying they retired, and left 
him to reflect and to resolve. At the expiration of the 
hour they s^nt Zadisky to receive his answer ; he insinu- 
ated to him the generosity and charity of Sir Philip and 
the lords, and the certainty of their resolutions, and 
begged him to take care what answer he returned, for 
that his fate depended on it. He kept silent several 
minutes ; resentment and despair were painted on his 
visage ; at length he spoke ; — 

Tell my proud enemies that I prefer banishment to 
death, infamy, or a life of solitude.” “You have chosen 
well,” said Zadisky. “ To a wise man all countries are 
alike ; it shall be my care to make mine agreeable to 
you.” “ Are you, then, the person chosen for my com- 
panion ? ” “I am, sir ; and you may judge by that cir- 
oumstance, that those whom you call your enemies are 
not so in effect. Farewell, sir ; I go to prepare for our 
departure.” 

Zadisky went and made his report, and then sat imme- 
diately about his preparations. He chose two active 
young men for his attendants ; and gave them directions 
to keep a strict eye upon their charge, for that they 
should be accountable if he should escape them. 

In the meantime the Baron Fitz-Owen had several con- 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


171 


ferences witli his brother : he endeavoured to make him 
sensible of his crimes, and of the justice and clemency of 
his conqueror ; but he was moody and reserved to him as 
to the rest. Sir Philip Harclay obliged him to surrender 
his worldly estates into the hands of Lord Fitz-Owen. 
A writing was drawn up for that purpose, and executed 
in the presence of them all. Lord Fitz-Owen engaged to 
allow him an annual sum, and to advance money for the 
expenses of his voyage. He spoke to him in the most 
affectionate manner, but he refused his embrace. “ You 
will have nothing to regret,” said he, haughtily, “ for 
the gain is yours.” Sir Philip conjured Zadisky to 
return to him again ; who answered, •* I will either 
return, or give such reasons for my stay as you shall ap- 
prove. I will send a messenger to acquaint you with my 
arrival in Syria, and with such other particulars as I 
shall judge interesting to you and yours. In the mean- 
time remember me in your prayers, and preserve for me 
those sentiments of friendship and esteem which I have 
always deemed among the chief honours and blessings of 
my life. Commend _my love and duty to your adopted 
son ; he will more than supply my absence, and be the 
^comfort of your old age. Adieu, best and noblest of 
friends 1 ” They took a tender leave of each other, not 
without tears on both sides. 

The travellers set out directly for a distant sea-port, 
where they heard of a ship bound for the Levant, in which 
they embarked, and proceeded on their voyage. 

The commissioners arrived at Lord Clifford’s a few 
days after the departure of the adventurers. They gave 
a minute account of their commission, and expressed 


172 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


themselves entirely satisfied of the justice of Edmund’s 
pretensions : they gave an account in writing of all that 
they had been eye-witnesses to, and ventured to urge the’ 
Baron Eitz-Owen on the subject of Edmund’s wishes. 
The baron was already disposed in his favour ; his 
mind was employed in the future establishment of his 
family. During their residence at Lord Clifford’s, his 
eldest son, Sir Kobert, had cast his eye upon the eldest 
daughter of that nobleman, and he besought his father 
to ask her in marriage for him. The baron was pleased 
with the alliance, and took the first opportunity to men- 
tion it to Lord Clifford ; who answered him pleasantly, 
“ I will give my daughter to your son upon condition that 
you will give yours to the heir of Lovel.” The baron 
looked serious. Lord Clifford went on : “I like that young 
man so well that I would accept him for a son-in-law if 
he asked me for my daughter ; and if I have any in- 
fluence with you I will use it in his behalf.” “ A powerful 
solicitor indeed!"” said the baron; “but you know my 
eldest son’s reluctance to it ; if he consent, so will 1.” 
“ He shall consent,” said Lord Clifford, “ or he shall have 
no daughter of mine. Let him subdue his prejudices, 
and then I will lay aside my scruples.” “ But, my lord,” 
replied the baron, “ if I can obtain his free consent, it will 
be the best for all. I will try once more ; and if he will 
not, I will leave it wholly to your management.” 

When the noble company were all assembled, Sir 
Philip Harclay revived the subject, and besought the 
Lord Fitz-Owen to put an end to the work he had begun, 
by confirming Edmund’s happiness. The baron rose up, 
and thus spoke : “ The proofs of Edmund’s noble birth, 


THE OLD ENGLISH BAEON. 


173 


the still stronger ones of his excellent endowments and 
qualities, the solicitations of so many noble friends in 
his behalf, have altogether determined me in his favour ; 
and I hope to do justice to his merit, without detriment to 
my other children : I am resolved to make them all 
as happy as my power will allow me to do. Lord Clifford 
has been so gracious to promise his fair daughter to my 
son Robert, upon certain conditions, that I will take upon 
me to ratify, and which will render my son worthy of the 
happiness that awaits him. My children are the un- 
doubted heirs of my unhappy brother, Lovel ; you, my 
son, shall therefore immediately take possession of your 
uncle’s house and estate, only obliging you to pay to each 
of your younger brothers the sum of one thousand pounds ; 
on this condition I will secure that estate to you and 
your heirs for ever. 1 will, by my own act and deed, 
surrender the castle and estate of Lovel to the right 
owner, and, at the same time, marry him to my daughter. 

I will settle a proper allowance upon my two younger 
sons, and dispose of what remains by a will and testa- * 
ment ; and then I shall have done all my business in 
this world, and shall have nothing to do but prepare for 
the next.” 

“ Oh, my father 1 ” said Sir Robert, “ I cannot hear of 
your generosity ; you would give away all to others, and 
reserve nothing for yourself.” “ Not so, my son,” said 
the baron : “I will repair my old castle in Wales, and 
reside there. I will visit my children, and be visited by 
them : I will enjoy their happiness, and by that means 
increase my own. Whether I look backwards or for- 
wards, I shall have nothing to do but rejoice, and be 


17 ^ 


THE OLD ENGLISH BAKON. 


thankful to Heaven that has given me so many blessings r 
I shall have the comfortable reflection of having dis- 
charged my duties as a citizen, a husband, a father, a. 
friend ; and whenever I am summoned away from this 
world, I shall die content.” 

Sir Robert came forward with tears on his cheeks ; he 
kneeled to his father ; “ Best of parents and of men ! 
said he, “ you have subdued a heart that has been too 
refractory to your will: you have. this day made me 
sensible how much I owe to your goodness and forbear- 
ance with me. Forgive me all that is past, and from 
henceforward dispose of me : I will have no will but 
yours, no ambition but to be worthy of the name of your 
son ! ” “ And this day,” said the baron, “ do I enjoy the 

true happiness of a father ! Rise, my son, and take pos- 
session of the first place in my affection without reserve.” 
They embraced with tears on both sides ; the company 
rose, and congratulated both father and son. The baron 
presented his sor\ to Lord Clifford, who embraced him, 
.and said, “ You shall have my daughter, for I see that 
you deserve her.” 

Sir Philip Harclay approached ; the baron gave his son’s 
hand to the knight : “ Love and respect that good man,” 
said he ; “ deserve his friendship, and you will obtain it.” 
Nothing but congratulations were heard on all sides. 

When the joy was in some degree reduced to composure, 
Sir Philip proposed that they should begin to execute the 
schemes of happiness they had planned. He proposed 
that my Lord Fitz-Owen should go with him to the castle 
of Lovel, and settle the family there. The baron con- 
sented ; and both together invited such of the company 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


175 


cas liked it to accompany them thither. It was agreed 
that a nephew of Lord Graham’s, another of Lord 
Clifford’s, two gentlemen, friends of Sir Philip Harclay, 
and Father Oswald, should be of the party, together with 
several of Sir Philip’s dependants and domestics, and tho 
attendants on the rest. — Lord Fitz-Owen gave orders 
for their speedy departure. Lord Graham and his 
friends took leave of them, in order to return to his 
own home ; but, before he went, he engaged his eldest 
nephew and heir to the second daughter of the Lord 
Clifford. Sir Robert offered himself to the eldest, who 
modestly received his addresses, and made no objection 
, to his proposal. The fathers confirmed their engagement. 

Lord Fitz-Owen promised to return to the celebration 
of the marriage ; in the meantime, he ordered his son to 
’ go and take possession of his uncle’s house, and to settle 
his household. He invited young Clifford, and some 
other gentlemen, to go with him. The company sepa- 
rated with regret, and with many promises of friendship 
on all sides ; and the gentlemen of the north were to 
cultivate the good neighbourhood on both sides of the 
borders. 

Sir Philip Harclay and the Baron Fitz-Owen, with 
their friends and attendants, set forward for the castle 
of Lovel ; a servant went before, at full speed, to 
acquaint the family with their approach. Edmund was 
in great anxiety of mind, now the crisis of his fate was 
near at hand : he inquired oi the messenger who were of 
the party, and finding that Sir Philip Harclay was 
there, and that Sir Robert Fitz-Owen stayed in the north, 
his hopes rose above his fears. Mr. William, attended by 


176 


THE OLD ENGLISH BAKON. 


a servant, rode forward to meet them ; he desired 
Edmund to stay and receive them. Edmund was under 
some difficulty with regard to his behaviour to the lovely 
Emma ; a thousand times his heart rose to his lips, as 
often he suppressed his emotions ; they both sighed fre- 
quently, said little, thought much, and wished for the 
event. Master Walter was too young to partake of their 
anxieties, but he wished for the arrival of his father to 
end them. 

Mr. William’s impatience spurred him on to meet his 
father : as soon as he saw him he rode up directly to him : 
“ My dear father, you are welcome home,” said he. “I 
think not, sir,” said the baron, and looked serious. 
“Why so, my lord?” said William. “Because it is no 
longer mine, but another man’s home,” answered he, 
• “ and I must receive my welcome from him.” “ Meaning 
Edmund?” said William. “Whom else can it be?” 
“ Ah, my lord ! he is your creature, your servant ; he puts 
his fate into your liands, and will submit to your plea- 
sure in all things ! ” “ Why comes he not to meet us ? ” 

said the baron. “ His fears prevent him,” said William ; 
“ but speak the word, and I will fetch him.” “ No,” 
said the baron, “ we will wait on him.” William looked 
confused. “ Is Edmund so unfortunate,” said he, “ as to 
have incurred your displeasure ? ” Sir Philip Harclay 
advanced, and laid his hand on William’s saddle : “ Gene- 
rous impatience ! noble youth ! ” said he ; “ look round 
you, and seek if you can discover in this company one 
enemy of your friend ! Leave to your excellent father 
the time and manner of explaining himself ; he only can 
do justice to his own sentiments.” The baron smiled on 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


177 


Sir Philip : William’s countenance cleared up : they went 
forward, and soon arrived at the castle of Lovel. 

Edmund was walking to and fro in the hall, when he 
heard the horn that announced their arrival : his emotions 
were so great that he could hardly support them. The 
baron and Sir Philip entered the hall hand in hand ; 
Edmund threw himself at their feet, and embraced their 
knees, but could not utter a word. They raised him 
between them, and strove to encourage him ; but he 
threw himself in the arms of Sir Philip Barclay, de- 
prived of strength, and almost of life. They supported 
him to a seat, where he recovered by degrees, but had no 
power -to speak his feelings : he looked up to his bene- 
factors in the most affecting manner ; he laid his hand 
upon his bosom, but was still silent. “ Compose yourself, 
my dear son,” said Sir Philip ; “ you are in the arms of 
your best friends. Look up to the happiness that awaits 
you ; enjoy the blessings that Heaven sends you ; lift up 
your heart in gratitude to the Creator, and think less of 
what you owe to the creature. You will have time 
enough to pay your acknowledgments hereafter.” 

The company came round them ; the servants flocked 
into the hall ; shouts of joy were heard on all sides ; the 
baron came and took Edmund’s hand : “ Rise, sir,” said 
he, “ and do the honours of your house ! it is yours from 
this day : we are your guests, and expect from you our 
welcome ! ” Edmund kneeled to the baron ; he spoke 
with a faltering voice : “ My lord, I am yours ! all that 
I have is at your devotion ! dispose of me as it pleases 
you best ! ” The baron embraced him with the greatest 
affection : “ Look round you,” said he, “ and salute your 


178 * THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 

friends ; these g-entlemen come hither to do you honour. 
Edmund revived ; he embraced and welcomed the gentle- 
men. Father Oswald received his embrace with peculiar 
affection, and gave him his benediction in a most affecting' 
manner, Edmund exclaimed, “ Pray for me, father ! 
that I may bear all these blessings with gratitude and 
moderation ! ” He then saluted and shook hands with 
all the servants, not omitting the meanest : he dis- 
tinguished Joseph by a cordial embrace ; he called him 
his dear friend. “Now,” said he, “I can return your 
friendship, and I am proud to acknowledge it ! ” The 
old man, with a faltering voice, cried out : “ Now I have 
lived long enough ! I have seen my master’s son acknow- 
ledged for the heir of Lovel ! ” The hall echped with 
his words : “ Long live the heir of Lovel ! ” 

The baron took Edmund’s hands in his own ; “ Let us 
retire from this crowd,” said he j “we have business of a 
more private nature to transact.”- He led to the parlour, 
followed by Sir Philip and the other g.entlemeu. “ Where 
are my other children ? ” said he. William retired, and 
presently returned with his brother and sister. They 
kneeled to their father, who raised and embraced them 
He then called out, AVilliam ! Edmund! come and 
receive my blessing also,” They approached hand in 
hand ; they kneeled, and he gave them a solemn, bene- 
diction. “ Your friendship deserves our praise, my 
children ; love each other always ! and may Heaven pour 
down its choicest blessings upon your heads ! ” 

They rose and embraced in silent raptures of joy. Ed- 
mund presented his friend to Sir Philip. “ I understand 
you,” said he : “ this gentleman was my first acquaint- 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 17f; 

ance of tliis family ; he has a title to the second place in 
my heart : I shall tell him, at more leisure, how much I 
love and honour him for his own sake as well as yours/’ 
He embraced the youth, and desired his friendship. 

“ Come hither, my Emma,” said the baron. She 
approached, with tears on her cheek, sweetly blushing, 
like the damask rose wet with the dew of the morning. 
“ I must ask you a serious question, my child ; answer 
me with the same sincerity you would to Heaven. You 
see this young man, the heir of Lovel ; you have known 
him long : consult your own heart, and tell me whether 
you have any objection to receive him for your husband ? 
I have promised to all this company to give you to him ; 
but upon condition that you approve him. I think him 
worthy of you ; and, whether you accept him or not, he 
shall ever be to me a son ; but Heaven forbid that I 
should compel my child to give her hand where she can- 
not bestow her heart ! Speak freely, and decide this 
point for me and yourself.” The fair Emma blushed, 
and was under some confusion : her virgin modesty pre- 
vented her speaking for some moments. Edmund 
trembled ; he leaned upon William’s shoulder to support 
himself. Emma cast her eye upon him ; she saw his 
emotion, and hastened to relieve him ; she thus spoke, in 
a soft voice, which gathered strength as she proceeded : 
“ My lord and father’s goodness has always prevented my 
wishes : I am the happiest of all children, in being able 
to obey his commands, without offering violence to ray 
own inclinations. As I am called upon in this public 
manner, it is but justice to declare that, were I at liberty 
to choose- a husband from all the world, he only should 


180 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


be my choice, who, I can say with joy, is my father’s 
also.” Edmund bowed low : he advanced towards her : the 
baron took his daughter’s hand and presented it to him : 
he kneeled upon one knee, he took her hand, kissed it, and 
pressed it to his bosom. The baron embraced and blessed 
them ; he presented them to Sir Philip Harclay : “ Re- 
ceive and acknowledge your children,” said he. “ I do 
receive them as the gift of Heaven ! ” said the noble 
knight ; “ they are as much mine as if I had begotten 
them : all that I have is theirs, and shall descend to their 
children for ever.” A fresh scene of congratulation 
ensued ; and the hearts of all the auditors were too much 
engaged to be able soon to return to the ease and tran- 
quillity of common life. 

After they had refreshed themselves, and recovered 
from the emotions they had sustained on this interesting 
occasion, Edmund thus addressed the baron : “ On the 
brink of happiness, I must claim your attention to a 
melancholy subject. The bones of both my parents lie 
unburied in this house : permit me, my honoured lord, 
to perform my last duties to them, and the remainder of 
my life shall be devoted to you and yours.” “ Certainly,” 
said the baron ; “ why have you not interred them 1 ” 
“ My lord, I waited for your arrival, that you might be 
certified of the reality, and that no doubts might remain.” 
“ I have no doubts,” said the baron. “ Alas ! both the 
crime and punishment of the offender leave no room for 
them ! ” He sighed. “ Let us now put an end to this 
affair ; and, if possible, forget it for ever.” 

“ If it will not be too painful to you, my lord, I would 
entreat you, with these gentlemen, our friends, to follow 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


181 


me into the east apartment, the scene of my pai*ents’ 
woes, and yet the dawning- of my better hopes.” 

They rose to attend him ; he committed the Lady 
Emma to the care of her youngest brother, observing 
that the scene was too solemn for a lady to be present at 
it. They proceeded to the apartment : he showed the 
baron the fatal closet, and the place where the bones 
were found, also the trunk that contained them ; he re- 
capitulated all that had passed before their arrival ; he 
showed them the coffin where the bones of the unfortu- 
nate pair were deposited ; he then desired the baron to 
give orders for their interment. “ No,” replied he, “ it 
belongs to you to order, and every one here is ready to 
perform it.” Edmund then desired Father Oswald to 
give notice to the friars of the monastery of St. Austin 
that, with their permission, the funeral should be 
solemnised there, and the bones interred in the church. 
He also gave orders that the closet should be floored, the 
apartment repaired, and put in order. He then returned 
to the other side of the castle. 

Preparations being made for the funeral, it was per- 
formed a few days after. Edmund attended in person as 
chief mourner ; Sir Philip Harclay as the second ; Joseph 
desired he might assist as servant to the deceased. They 
were followed by most people of the village. The story 
was now become public, and every one blessed Edmund 
for the piety and devotion with which he performed the 
last duties to his parents. Edmund appeared in deep 
mourning. The week after, he assisted at a mass for the 
repose of the deceased. 

Sir Philip Harclay ordered a monument to be erected 


182 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


to the memory of his friends, with the followings in- 
scription : — 

“ Praye for the soules of Arthur Lord Lovele and Marie 
his wife, who were cut off in the flowere of theire youthe, 
by the trecherye and crueltie of their near, kinnesmanne. 
Edmund theire onlie sonne, one and twentie yeares after 
theire deathe, by the direction of Heavene, made the dis- 
coverye of the mannere of theire deathe, and at the same 
time proved his own birthe. He collected theire bones 
together, and interred them in this place : a warning 
and proof e to late posteritie of the justice of Provi- 
dence and the certaintie of retribution.” 

The Sunday after the funeral Edmund threw off his 
mourning, and appeared in a dress suitable to his con- 
dition. He received the compliments of his friends with 
ease and cheerfulness, and began to enjoy his happiness. 
He asked an audience of his fair mistress, and was per- 
mitted to declare the passion he had so long stifled in his 
own bosom. She gave him a favourable hearing, and in 
a short time confessed that she had suffered equally in 
that suspense that was so grievous to him. They engaged 
themselves by mutual vows to each other, and only waited 
the baron’s pleasure to complete their happiness : every 
cloud was vanished from their brows, and sweet tran- 
quillity took possession of their bosoms. Their friends 
shared their happiness ; William and Edmund renewed 
their vows of everlasting friendship, and promised to be 
as much together as William’s other duties would permit. 

The baron once more summoned all his company to- 
gether. He told Edmund all that had passed relating 
to his brother-in-law, his exile, and the pilgrimage of 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


183 


Zadisky. He tken related the circumstances of Sir 
Robert’s engagement to Lord Clifford’s daughter, his 
establishment in his uncle’s seat, and his own obligations 
to return time enough to be present at the marriage ; 

but before I go,” said he, “ I will give my daughter to 
the heir of Lovel, and then I shall have discharged my 
duty to him, and my promise to Sir Philip Harclay.” 

“ You have nobly performed both,” said Sir Philip, 
•“ and whene^^r you depart I shall be your companion.” 

\Yhat,” said Edmund, “ am I to be deprived of both my 
fathers at once? My honoured lord, you have given 
away two houses, where do j^ou intend to reside ? ” “ No 

matter,” said the baron ; “ I know I shall be welcome to 
both.” “My dear lord,” said Edmund, “stay here and 
be still the master ; I shall be proud to be under your 
command, and to be your servant as well as your son ! ” 
No, Edmund,” said the baron, “ that would not now be 
proper ; this is your castle ; you are its lord and master, 
and it is incumbent on you to show yourself worthy of 
the great things Providence hath done for you.” “ How' 
shall I, a young man, acquit myself of so many duties as 
will be upon me, without the advice and assistance of my 
two paternal friends ? Oh, Sir Philip ! will you, too, 
leave me? once you gave me hopes — ” he stopped, greatly 
affected. Sir Philip said, “ Tell me truly, Edmund, do 
you really desire that I should live with you ? ” “ As 

truly, sir, as I desire life and happiness ! ” “ Then, my 

dear child, I will live and die with you ! ” They em- 
braced with tears of affection, and Edmund was all joy 
and gratitude. “ My good lord,” said Sir Philip, “ you 
have disposed of two houses, and have none ready to 


184 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


receive you : will you accept of mine ! It is much, at 
your service, and its being in the same county with your 
eldest son, will be an inducement to you to reside there.” 
The baron caught Sir Philip’s hand — “ Noble, sir, I thank 
you, and I will embrace your kind offer ; I will be your 
tenant for the present ; my castle in Wales shall be put 
in repair in the meantime ; if I do not reside there, it 
will be an establishment for one of my youngest sons.” 
“ But what will you do with your old soldiers and de- 
pendents ? ” “ My lord, I will never cast them off. There 
is another house on my estate that has been shut up many 
years ; I will have it repaired and furnished properly for 
the reception of my old men ; I will endow it with a 
certain sum to be paid annually, and will appoint a 
steward to manage their revenue ; I will continue it 
during the lives of the first inhabitants, and after that I 
shall leave it to my son here to do as he pleases.” “Your 
son,” said Edmund, “will make it the business of his life 
to act worthy of such a father.” “ Enough,” said Sir 
Philip, “I am satisfied that you will. I propose to 
reside myself in that very apartment which my dear 
friend, your father, inhabited ; I will tread in his foot- 
steps, and think he sees me acting his part in his son’s 
family. I will be attended by my own servants ; and 
whenever you desire it, I will give you my company ; 
your joys, your griefs shall be mine ; I shall hold your 
children in my arms, and their prattle shall amuse my 
old age : and as my ’ast earthly wish, your hands shall 
close my eyes.” “ Long, very long,” said Edmund (with 
eyes and hands lifted up), “ may it be ere I perform so 
sad a duty ! ” “ Long and happily may you live together,” 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON, 


185 


said the baron. “ I will hope to see you sometimes, and 
to claim a share in your blessings. But let us give no 
more tears to sorrow, the rest shall be those of joy and 
transport. The first step we take shall be to marry our 
Edmund ; I will give orders for the celebration, and they 
shall be the last orders I shall give in this house.” They 
then separated, and went to prepare for the approaching 
solemnity. 

Sir Philip and the baron had a private conference con- 
cerning Edmund’s assuming the name and title of Lovel. 
•‘‘I am resolved,” said Sir Philip, “to go to the king, to 
acquaint him briefly with Edmund’s history ; I will 
request that he may be called up to parliament by a writ, 
for there is no need of a new patent, he being the true 
inheritor ; in the meantime, he shall assume the name, 
arms, and title ; and I will answer anyone that shall 
dispute his right to them.” Sir Philip then declared his 
resolution to set out with the baron at his departure, and 
to settle all his other affairs before he returned to take 
up his residence at the castle. 

A few days after, the marriage was celebrated, to the 
entire satisfaction of all parties. The baron ordered the 
doors to be thrown open, and the house free for all 
comers, with every other token of joy and festivity. 
Edmund appeared- full of joy without levity, of mirth 
without extravagance ; he received the congratulations 
of his friends with ease, freedom, and vivacity. He, sent 
for his foster-father and mother, who began to think 
themselves neglected, as he had been so deeply en- 
gaged in affairs of more consequence that he had 
not been particularly attentive to them ; he made them 


186 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


come into tlie great hall, and presented them to his 
lady. 

‘ These,” said he, “are the good people to whom I am, 
under Grod, indebted for my present happiness ; they were 
my first benefactors ; I was obliged to them for food and 
sustenance in my childhood, and this good woman nou- 
rished my infancy at her own breast.” The lady received 
them graciously, and saluted Margery. Andrew kneeled 
down, and, with great humility, begged Edmund’s pardon 
for his treatment of him in his childhood. “ I heartily 
forgive you,” said he, and I will excuse you to yourself. 
It was natural for you to look upon me as an intruder 
that was eating your children’s bread ; you saved my life, 
and afterwards you sustained it by your food and rai- 
ment. I ought to have maintained myself, and to have 
contributed to your maintenance. But, besides this, 
your treatment of me was the first cause of my prefer- 
ment ; it recommended me to the notice of this noble 
family. Everything that has happened to me since has 
been a step to my present state of honour and happiness. 
Never man had so many benefactors as myself ; but both 
they and myself have been only instruments in the hands 
of Providence to bring about its own purposes. Let us 
praise God for all ! I shared your poverty, and you shall 
share my riches ; I will give you the cottage where you 
dwell, and the ground about it ; I will also pay you the 
annual sum of ten pounds for the lives of you both ; I 
will put out your children to manual trades, and assist 
you to provide for them in their own station ; and you 
are to look upon this as paying a debt, and not bestowing 
a gift. I owe you more than I ever can pay ; and, if 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


187 


there be anything further in my power that will contri- 
bute to your happiness, you can ask nothing in reason 
that I will deny you.” 

Andrew hid his face : “ I cannot bear it ! ” said he. 
“ Oh, what a brute was I to abuse such a child as this ! 
I shall never forgive myself I ” “ You must indeed, my 

friend, for I forgive and thank you.” Andrew retired 
back, but Margaret came forward. She looked earnestly 
on Edmund ; she then threw her arms about his neck, 
and wept aloud : “ My precious child I my lovely babe I 
thank God I have lived to see this day 1 I will rejoice in 
your good fortune and your bounty to us. But I must 
ask one more favour yet ; that I may sometimes come 
hither and behold that gracious countenance, and thank 
God that I was honoured so far as to give thee food from 
my own breast, and to bring thee up to be a blessing to 
me, and to all that know thee.” Edmund was affected ; 
he returned to embrace her ; he bade her come to the 
castle as often as she pleased, and she should always be 
received as his mother. The bride saluted her, and told 
her, the of tener she came the more welcome she should 
be. Margery and her husband retired, full of blessings 
and prayers for their happiness : she gave vent to her 
joy, by relating to the servants and neighbours every cir- 
cumstance of Edmund’s birth, infancy, and childhood. 
Many a tear was dropped by the auditors, and many a 
prayer wafted to Heaven for his happiness. Joseph took 
up the story where she left it ; he told the rising dawn 
of youth and virtue, darting its rays through the clouds 
of obscurity, and how every stroke of envy and malignity 
brushed away some part of the darkness that then veiled 


1S8 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


its lustre ; he told the story of the hauntod apartment, 
and all the consequences of it ; how he and Oswald con- 
veyed the youth away from the castle, no more to return 
till he came as master of it ; he closed the tale with 
praise to Heaven for the happy discovery that gave such 
an heir to the house of Lovel ; to his dependants such a 
lord and master ; to mankind, a friend and benefactor. 
There was truly a house of joy ; not that false kind, in 
the midst of which there is heaviness ; but that of 
rational creatures, grateful to the Supreme Benefactor, 
raising their minds, by a due enjoyment of earthly 
blessings, to a preparation for a more perfect state here- 
after. 

A few days after this wedding, the Lord Fitz-Owen 
began to prepare for his journey to the north. He gave 
to Edmund the plate, linen, and furniture of the castle, 
the farming stock and •utensils ; he would have added a 
sum of money, but Sir Philip stopped his hand. “ We do 
not forget,” said he, that you have other children : we 
will not suffer you to injure them ; give us your ble*",sing 
and paternal affection, and we have nothing more to ask : 
I told you, my lord, that you and I should one day be 
sincere friendsl” “ We must be so,” answered the baron ; 
“it is impossible to be long your enemy.” “We are 
brothers, and shall be to our lives’ end.” 

They regulated the young man’s household : the baron 
gave leave to his servants to choose their master ; the 
elder ones followed him (except Joseph, who desired to 
live with Edmund, as the chief happiness of his life) ; 
most of the younger ones chose the service of the youth- 
ful pair. There was a tender and affectionate parting on 


THE OLD ENGLISH PAEON. 


189 


all sides. Edmund besought bis beloved William not to 
leave him. The baron said, “ be must insist on bis being 
at bis brother’s wedding, as a due attention to him ; ” 
but after that, be should return to the castle for some 
time. 

The baron and Sir Philip Harclay, with their train, set 
forward. Sir Philip went to London, and obtained all he 
desired for his Edmund ; from thence he went into York- 
shire, and settled his affairs there, removing his pen- 
sioners to his other house, and putting Lord Eitz-Owen in 
possession of his own. They had a generous contention 
about the terms ; but Sir Philip insisted on the baron’s 
accepting the use of everything there. “ You hold it in 
trust for a future grandchild, ’^aid he, “ whom I hope ta 
live to endow with it.” 

During Sir Philip’s absence, the young Lord Lovel 
caused the haunted apartment to be repaired, and fur- 
nished for the reception of his father by adoption. He 
placed his friend Joseph over all his men servants, and 
ordered him to forbear his attendance ; but the old man 
would always stand at the sideboard, and feast his eyes 
with the countenance of his own master’s son, surrounded 
with honour and happiness. John Wyatt waited upon 
the person of his lord, and enjoyed his favour without 
abatement. Mr. William Fitz-Owen accompanied Sir 
Philip Harclay from the north country, when he returned 
to take up his residence at the castle of Lovel. 

Edmund, in the arms of love and friendship, enjoyed 
with true relish the blessings that surrounded him, with 
a heart overflowing with benevolence to his fellow- 
creatures, and raptures of gratitude to his Creator. His- 


190 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


lad V and himself were examples of conjugal affection and 
happiness. Within a year from his marriage she brought 
liim a son and heir, whose birth renewed the joy and con- 
gratulations of all his friends. The Baron Fitz-Owen 
came to the baptism, and partook of his children’s 
blessings. The child was called Arthur, after the name 
of its grandfather. 

The year following was born a second son, who was 
called Philip Harclay. Upon him the noble knight of 
that name settled his estate in Yorkshire ; and, by the 
king's permission, he took the name and arms of that 
family. 

The third son was called William : he inherited the 
fortune of his uncle of that name, who adopted him, and 
he made the castle of Lovel his residence, and died a 
bachelor. 

Tile fourth son was called Edmund ; the fifth, Owen ; 
and there was also a daughter called Emma. 

When time had worn out the prejudices of Sir Robert 
Fitz-Owen, the good old baron of that name proposed a 
marriage between his eldest son and heir, and the daughter 
of Edmund Lord Lovel. which was happily concluded. 
The nuptials were honoured with the presence of both 
families ; and the old baron was so elevated with this 
happy union of his descendants, that he cried out, “ Now 
I am ready to die ! I have lived long enough ! This is 
the band of love that unites all my children to me, and 
to each other ! ” He did not long survive this happy 
event : he died full of years and honours, and his name 
was never mentioned but with the dearest marks of grati- 
tude, love, and veneration. Sweet is the remembrance of 


the old ENGLISH BAKON, 


191 


the virtuous, and happy are the descendants of such a 
father ! They will think on him, and emulate his virtues ; 
they will remember him, and be ashamed to degenerate 
from their ancestor. 

Many years after Sir Philip Harclay settled at the 
castle, he received tidings from his friend Zadisky, by one 
of the two servants who attended him to the Holy Land. 
From him he learned that his friend had discovered, by 
private advices, that he had a son living in Palestine, 
which was the chief motive of his leaving England ; that 
he had met with various adventures in pursuit of him : 
that at length he found him, converted him to the Christian 
religion, and then persuaded him to retire from the world 
into a monastery by the side of Mount Libanus, where he 
intended to end his days. 

That Walter, commonly called Lord Lovel, had entered 
into the service of the Greek Emperor, John Paleblogues, 
not bearing to undergo a life of solitude and retirement : 
that he made up a story of his being compelled to leave 
his native country by his relations, for having accidentally 
killed one of them, and that he was treated with great 
cruelty and injustice; that he had accepted ^a post in 
the emperor’s army, and was soon after married to the 
daughter of one of the chief officers of it. 

Zadisky foresaw and lamented the downfall of that 
empire, and withdrew from the storm he saw approaching. 
Finally, he bade the messenger tell Sir Philip Harclay 
and his adopted son, that he should not cease to pray for 
them, and desired their prayers in return. 

Sir Philip desired Lord Lovel to entertain this mes- 
senger in his service. That good knight lived to extreme 


192 


THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 


old age in lionour and happiness, and died in the arms of 
his beloved Edmund ; who also performed the last duties 
to his faithful J oseph. 

Father Oswald lived many years in the family as chap- 
lain ; he retired from thence at length, and died, in his 
own monastery. 

Edmund Lord Lovel lived tO' old age, in peace, honour, 
and happiness, and died in the arms of his children. 

Sir Philip Barclay caused the papers relating to his 
son’s history to be collected together ; the first part of it 
was written under his own eye in Yorkshire ; the subse- 
quent parts by Father Oswald at the castle of Lovel. All 
these, when together, furnish a striking lesson to posterity, 
of the overruling hmid of Providence and the certainty of 
Retribution., 


\ 


y •. 




CJROSBY’sS 

YITALIZED PHOSPHITES 

For Fifteen Year^ has been a Standard 
Remedy with Physicians who best 
treat Mental or Nervous De- 
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*• I find Vitalized Phosphites indispensable after severe 
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WILLARD PARKER, M.D.. 

Professor of Surgery, 41 E. 12th Street, N. Y. 

** I use Vitalized Phosphites to relieve my patients from 
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Professor of Surgery, 291 Madison Av. 

. *' I could not treat nervous derangements successfully 

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GEO. M. BEARD, M.D., 

Professor of Nervous Diseases, 13 W. 29th Street, 

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60 Crotchet Castle. 

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^ 9 — Sermons on Evil Speaking, 


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Henry Mackenzie. 

R. B. Sheridan. 

.Bishop Latimer, 

Plutarch. 

Horace Walpole. 

Sir John Maukdkville. 
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Thomas Holcroft. 

Sir Walter Scott, Bart. 
Martin Luther. 

Francis Bacon. 

Lord Macaulay. 

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Dean Swift. 

George Crabbe. 
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Wm. Shakespeare. 
Richard Hakluyt. 

Mrs. Inciibald. 
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Sir Thos. Browne, M.D, 
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John Milton, 

Goethe. 

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Wm. Shakespeare. 
John Pinkerton. 
Alexander Pope. 

M. G. Lewis. 

Plutarch. 

Sydney Smith. 

Moritz. 

Fouque. 

Coleridge. 

Wm. Shakespeare. 

S. Johnson. 

Charles Dickens, 

Rev. John Keble. 

Chas. Waterton. 

By Himself. 

Jas. Sheridan Knowles 
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Pr.UTARCH. 

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60— Diary of Samuel Pepys, 1663-1664, 

61— The Tempest. 

62— Rosalind. 

63— Isaac Bickerstaff. 

64— -Gebir, and Count Julian. 

65— The Earl of Chatham. 

66— The Discovery of Guiana. 

67— Natural History of Selborne. "^ol. I. 

68— The Angel in the House, 

69— Murder as a Pine Art. The English 

Mail-Coach, 

70— Natural History of Selborne. Vol. II. 

71— Trips to the Moon. 

72— Lives of Cato the Younger, Agis, 

Cleomenes, and The Gracchi. 

73— Julius Caesar. 

74— Diary of Samuel Pepys. 1664-1665. 

75— Essay on Man. 

76— A Tour in Ireland. 

77— History of New York, Vol. I. 

70— History of New York. Vol. II, 

79— A Midsummer-Night’s Dream. 

80— The Banquet of Plato. 

81— A Voyage to Lisbon. 

82— My Beautiful Lady. Nelly Dale. 

83— Travels in the Interior of Africa. 

Vol. I. 

84— Travels in the Interior of Africa. 

Vol. II, 

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86 - The Diary of Samuel Pepys. 16C6. 

87— King Henry VIII. 

88— An Essay on the Sublime and Beau- 

tiful. 

89— Lives of Timoleon, Paulus .ffimelius, 

Lysander and ByUa. 

90— Warren Hastings. 

91— Endymion and Other Poems. 

92— Voyage to Abyssinia. 


Wm. Shakespeare. 
Thomas Lodge. 

Steele’s “Tatlek.” 
Walter Savage Landor. 
Lord Macaulay. 

Sir Walter Raleigh. 
Rev. G. White, A.M. 
Coventry Patmore. 

Thomas De Quincey. 
Rev. G. White, A.M. 
Lucian. 

Plutarch, 

Wm. Shakespeare. 

Alexander Pope. 
Arthur Young, 
Washington Irving. 
Washington Irving. 
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Shelley. 

Henry Fielding. 

Thonas Woolnkr, R.A. 

Mungo Park. 

Mungo Park. 

George Herbert. 

William Shakespeare. 

Edmund Burke, 

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Lord JIacaulay. 

John Keats. 

Father Jerome Lobo. 


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94— Sintram and His Companions. As- 


lauga’s Knight. 

95— Diary ot Samuel Pepys, 1666-1667. 

96— Life and Death of King John. 

97— History of the Caliph Vathek. 

98— Poems. 


La Motte Fouquk. 

Wm. SHAKESI'EAHE. 
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99— Colloquies on Society. Robert Southey. 

1 00— Li ves of Agesilaus, Pompey & Phocion. Plutarch. 

110— Winter’s Tale. Wm. Shakespeare, 


102— The Table Talk. 


John Selden. 


103— Diary of Samuel Pepys, 1667. 

104— An Essay Upon Projects. Daniel Defoe. 

105— Cricket on the Hearth, etc. Chas. Dickens. 

106_- Anecdotes of Samuel Johnson, DD.D. Hesther Lynch Piozzi. 

107— Solon, Publicola, Philopcemen, etc. Plutarch. 

108— Prometheus Unbound, with Adonais, 

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109— The Republic of the Future. 

110— King Dear. 

111— Seven Discourses on Art. 

112— Early History of James Second. 

113— Diary of Samuel Pepys.'-1667-1668. 

114— Dondon in 1731. 

115— Apology of the Church of England. 

116— Much Ado about Nothing. 

117— Sketches of Persia, Vol. I. 

1 18— Shepherds’ Calendar. 

119— The Black Death, The Dancing Mania. 

120 — Sketches of Persia. Vol. II. 

121— Diary of Samuel Pepys.— 1668. 
I22~Coriolanus. 

123— Areopagitica. 

124— -Essays on Goethe. 

125— King Richard II. 

126— Plato’s Crito and Phaedo. 

127— The Victories of Dove. 

128— First Part of King Henry FV. 

129— The Old English Baron. 

130— The Diary of Samuel Pepys. 1668 to 


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Sir Joshua Reynolds. 
Chas. James Fox. 


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ED.MUND Spenser. 

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W.M. Shakespearh. 
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Tho-mas Carlyle. 

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